


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by PanicAtTheEverywhere (DapperMuffin)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Apologies, Backstory, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Breaking the Fourth Wall, But Nothing Too Bad, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Deceit Sanders-centric, Emotional Roller Coaster, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Frogs, Horror Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Injuries, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Sweetheart, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Oops, Pack Bonding, Plot Twists, Post SvS Redux, Roman is not okay, Self-Harm, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Villain Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Wrath but as the orange side, a bunch of those, a lot of crying is incoming, also janus and virgil act like brothers tbh and its cute, and ive updated again!!, because i dont control that sorry, brief mentions of past abusive relationship, call this an escalator bc boy that escalated quickly, no beta we die like men, no really stop reading the tags there WILL be spoilers from now on, oops i made more backstory for Wrath again aa, remus and virgil are adorable and its disgusting, seriously this gets darker than i thought it would, sorry for this, spoilers in the tags, the author has finally stopped being a little btch baby, vaguely horror inspired, whooooo boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24044725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperMuffin/pseuds/PanicAtTheEverywhere
Summary: This is the aftermath of Selfishness vs Selflessness Redux. Really, everyone's a mess. Janus and Patton are friends now, but maybe there's more to it...?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 274
Kudos: 315





	1. apology

**Author's Note:**

> my title's a whole-ass cliche adjgsg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: self-harm, mentions of blood  
> please skip from "He's not Remus, he's nothing like his brother, he made sure of that" to "Roman can't afford to cry" if this is a trigger for you

There is a quiet knock on Janus’ door, and he stands. “ _Don't_ come in.”

Patton opens the door cautiously, brightening when he sees Janus. “Hey, Janus.” Janus isn't used to hearing his name from anyone other than Remus. Virgil stopped using his name when he left, after all. Still, it feels… _good_ when Patton calls him Janus.

“Was there something you needed?” Janus says.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Patton stands in the doorway, hands clasped, and he seems awkward.

“Would you like to come in?” says Janus.

“Oh, I wasn't sure if—”

“Close the door behind you,” he says curtly, but there’s almost a hint of a smirk in the way the corners of his mouth curve. Patton takes a few steps into the room, closing the door with a quiet click.

“I wanted to say— about earlier, um…” Patton bites his lip. “First, I'm sorry about Roman.”

“Ah, yes, the royal buffoon,” scoffs Janus.

“He doesn't know how to deal with his feelings in a healthy way. Not—not that it's any excuse,” Patton hastens to say as Janus opens his mouth. “I'm not sure any of us ever _truly_ learned healthy coping mechanisms.” _Ain’t that the truth._ He falls silent, thinking. Janus watches Patton, the way he frowns slightly while he thinks. “So, on his behalf, I want to apologize for him, since I know it hurt you when you opened up about your name and he laughed. I know it won't make up for what he did, but I'm sorry.” Patton offers Janus a tentative smile, and Janus, despite the voice in his head that's been telling him not to trust Patton for years, smiles back.

“Was that all?” asks Janus.

“Oh, uh, no.” Patton laughs in a way that seems to Janus like he’s nervous, but that can’t be right—why would he be nervous to talk to Janus? “Sorry, I should get to the point, huh? Well… I think it was very brave of you to tell us your name. You didn't have to do that.”

“I was tired of you all—and Thomas—thinking I was some sort of villain. Sure, I may dress like one, but maybe I just like the capelet,” he sniffs with mock snobbishness, and Patton huffs a laugh. “The longer I was known as Deceit, the less likely I was to be thought of as anything other than a liar if that makes sense.”

“It does.” Patton had taken one of Janus’ gloved hands in both of his own, and Janus stares down at their hands before looking up at Patton. Patton tilts his head, unsure as to why Janus is looking at him like that.

“You're holding my hand,” says Janus pointedly, and Patton stiffens.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't notice. I do it so often with the other sides that I—” Patton stops himself mid-ramble. He starts to let go, but Janus places his other hand on top of Patton’s. He blinks. He hadn't intended to do that.

“It's fine,” he assures Patton quietly. The moral side gapes at him, eyes wide. “I didn't mind.” Still, he forces himself to let go, and once his hand moves, the spell breaks, and Patton lets go too.

“Well, Patton, thank you for coming here to tell me that. It was nice of you.” Janus steps back—when had he stepped closer to Patton? Hadn’t it been _Patton_ who’d approached _him?_

“It was my pleasure.” There’s that _smile,_ the one that makes Janus feel warm inside, the one he loves as much as he loathes. It’s been so long.

Patton starts to leave but thinks better of it. “Hey, Janus? Let me know if you ever need anything, okay? I like talking to you.” Janus nods, and Patton, satisfied with his answer, leaves, closing Janus’ door behind him.

Janus sits down at his desk. His snake Ethel flicks her tongue at him, and he sighs. “I don't know what that was,” is what he tells her. “Patton’s smile makes me so irrationally happy,” he doesn't say. “I didn't want him to leave,” he doesn't confess. “I liked it when he held my hand,” is a statement he'd most definitely never say aloud.

Janus doesn't get it. He really, truly doesn't understand why _Patton_ of all people now makes him the happiest he's ever been. (He hasn’t been anywhere near this happy since before Virgil left, but even still, it was never like this.) He does have an inkling why, but he refuses to acknowledge it. Perhaps, if he just ignores it long enough, it will go away. In the meantime, he occupies himself with menial tasks such as reordering his bookshelf. He’s getting bored of alphabetical order, after all, so maybe he’ll order his books by color now.

* * *

Roman screams at the ceiling. _Stupid Deceit._ Just because he happens to be _right_ for once doesn't mean Thomas and Patton suddenly need to be all buddy-buddy with that reptilian rapscallion. He's the villain! He _has_ to be, since Roman’s clearly the hero.

Who betrays the hero? Roman’s not _evil!_ He's _not_ Remus, he's nothing like his brother, he made sure of that.

Roman scratches frantically at his arms. _I'm not the villain, I'm not the bad guy, I can't be, th-there's no way, I'm the good guy, the hero, the one they all look up to—_

He feels something wet under his fingernails, and he pulls his hands away, cursing at the blood welling up from the newly opened cuts on his forearms. He rifles through drawers, finally finding the bandages that he's reused many times to hide injuries he doesn't want the other sides to see. He wraps a piece of bandage around his forearm—one then the other—wincing as he pulls it too tight. He rolls down his sleeves, inspecting them to make sure he can't see the bandages underneath.

The tears have stopped now, and Roman pants from where he's kneeling on the floor. He can't keep letting this happen. This is the second time in as many weeks. It's not that he _enjoys_ the pain, but it's not like there's any other way for him to trigger the endorphins.

Roman grimaces at the blood under his nails. He snaps his fingers and the blood is gone, his face also free of its half-dried tear tracks.

Roman can't afford to cry. He's supposed to be a prince, he’s supposed to be _strong,_ so there's no time for any of this.

Roman taps the floor with his nails. Thomas and Patton have _clearly_ been tricked by Deceit’s lies—for fuck’s sake, he's called _Deceit_ —and it's up to Roman to break them out of his trap, to make them realize he's evil. Only Roman can do it—he himself was manipulated by Deceit just a month prior. That filthy snake can't get away with this, and Roman begins to create a plan for how he's going to get the serpent in his own trap.


	2. forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil enters.

Something’s wrong. He can feel it in his (non-existent) bones. (He's not human, he doesn't _have_ bones.)

  
  
Or, no, not _wrong._ Something's changed, and Virgil doesn't like it at all.

He’d been preoccupied, too busy with other things to join in with whatever yesterday's moral dilemma had been. (In fact, he's tired, both of trying to solve Thomas's problems and in general.)

But something has changed. In a way, Virgil can feel the balance of the Mindscape, the general well-being of the other sides, as innately as one might feel pain. He can't begin to imagine what sort of huge change could possibly have occurred to set the Mindscape this out of whack, but it can't be good.

Virgil appears in his spot on the stairs, but the living room is empty. _Odd._ He sinks out again, appearing not in his room but in the landing outside. Doors span the walls. His own is painted a dark gray, the symbol of a purple storm cloud attached in the center, and his name scrawled in all caps at the top. He knows that behind him, if he turns, he’ll see the glossy black door with its two-headed snake.

But he does turn, and the top edge of the door is no longer blank. He reels back, reading the name written in cursive— _Janus_ —and attempting to get his breathing under control.

_Come on, Virgil, you knew this would happen, don't freak out_ —easier said than done— _just breathe, okay?_ He forces himself to count: _4 7 8,_ one hand on the wall to ground himself.

_Good. See, you don't have to have a panic attack every damn day._ His breathing is still a little forced, but at least he's not hyperventilating anymore.

This would surely account for part of the shift in the Mindscape, Virgil thinks absently, but something else must have happened. This can't be all.

Just then, the glossy black door in front of Virgil opens, and the last person Virgil would expect to be in there exits.

Patton’s smile becomes concerned as he sees Virgil—he must still seem shaky—and Virgil makes an effort to keep his face neutral as he raises one eyebrow.

“Hey, kiddo! It's been a little while, I was wondering where you were.” To Virgil's relief, Patton doesn't mention the way Virgil’s hand shakes when he lets go of the wall. “Someone should probably fill you in on what's been happening, huh?” Virgil nods mutely, following Patton to the pastel blue door and into the room beyond.

“Janus?” is the first thing he says—the first thing he's able to say.

“Yeah. He told us his name.” Patton smiles faintly. Since when did they get along?

“I already knew it,” he admits.

“Logan and I had a hunch, but we didn't want to freak you out or make you feel like we were pressuring you.” Patton clasps his hands in his lap in a way that seems almost deliberate.

“So what exactly led up to that?” And Patton starts the arduous process of explaining yesterday's events to a very confused Virgil, doubling back often whenever he forgets to mention something.

The main thing that stands out to Virgil is: “You turned into a giant frog with abs?”

Patton chuckles, embarrassed. “Yep.”

Virgil stares at him for a moment until it's clear Patton doesn't want to discuss it in any more detail. “O- _kay_ then.”

When Patton gets to the part about Janus revealing his name and Roman laughing, Virgil has a strange sense of deja vu—after all, this is a repeat offense. He remembers the first time all too well.

“He said _what?”_ asks Virgil, flabbergasted, when Patton quotes what Janus had said to Roman in reply.

“I, uh… wouldn't say it was uncalled for, but it did seem harsh,” replies Patton, fidgety.

“Yeah,” replies Virgil, a little vacantly. If he's being honest, he doesn't know how to feel about it.

“I went to check on Roman, but he ignored my knocking and wouldn't let me in. I'm a little worried about him.” Virgil tries not to be mad that Roman's making Patton worried. He changes the subject to a question he's very curious about.

“Patton? Why were you in his room?” Virgil can't say _Janus,_ not yet, not… not until he's talked to him, at least.

Patton's face turns red. Very suspicious, Virgil thinks. “We-we're friends now? I think? He… he likes talking to me.” There's that weird fond smile again, the same one he had while leaving Janus' room.

Not that Virgil has any business prying, he reminds himself. Whatever is or is not going on between Patton and Janus behind closed doors should not concern him, and he should leave it well enough alone.

Instead, the words fighting to tumble out of his mouth are, “How is he?” He wasn't aware that he's been concerned about Janus, but once the words are said, there's a certain sense of relief.

“I think he's doing okay. He's a little lonely though since usually he only talks to Remus, and Remus hasn't shown up since Janus revealed his name.” (The words Patton doesn’t say are, “He hasn't shown up since Janus called him evil.”) ”Anyway, I think that's why he's so glad for my company.”

“Do you think—?” starts Virgil, stopping abruptly. That's not right. “If I— tried to go talk to him…?”

“I really shouldn't speak for him, since I don't know how he’d act, but I doubt he'd react poorly now.” Patton smiles reassuringly at Virgil, but instead of being relieved, all Virgil can feel is the adrenaline pumping through his non-existent veins, working to drown out his fears and worries.

“I'm gonna go talk to him,” he says, bolting for the door.

Patton watches him go, shaking his head. He gets up to close the door, but before he does, he glances down the hallway. Virgil is standing before Janus' door, fists balled with determination. He hopes they can work through their issues, for both of their sakes.

* * *

Virgil huffs. _It's just a knock, just one, this isn't so hard. If he can just move his arm—_

The door opens. A familiar half-snake face greets Virgil.

“Janus,” he says, voice choked.

Janus stands there in the doorway, unsure of what to think or feel, lips slightly parted. After a moment, he steps aside. “Would you like to come in, Virgil?”

So this is how Virgil finds himself standing in this familiar room. The lighting that he used to like now feels like an interrogation. _Too bright._

Janus sighs then tries to smile. “It's been a while, hm?”

Virgil racks his brain for something to say, accidentally admitting, “I miss you.” His shoulders rise as he stiffens, but Janus only responds with a sad laugh.

“Me too,” Janus replies shortly after.

“I never me-meant what I said,” rushes Virgil. He wants, no, _needs_ Janus to understand. “I was upset and I overreacted and it was stupid. I take it back.”

Janus regards Virgil with tired eyes. “Yes. I lashed out as well, but we both know I'm a liar, so clearly those things I said were untruths. I was biased.”

Virgil catches sight of something behind Janus. “Hey, is that Ethel?” He smiles at the (actual) snake, and Janus smiles at Virgil. “I'm glad to see she’s still doing well.” Virgil lets Ethel smell and lick his extended hand with excitement.

“I've missed you,” says Janus. Virgil just hums but doesn't look at him. “Do you think we could set all of our differences aside? ...Please?” His voice comes out quieter than Virgil had heard in a while, almost pleading.

At first, Janus thinks Virgil's going to refuse, but he shrugs and says, “Yeah, sure, I don't see why not.” ~~He's still family, after all.~~

“Say, Jay,” grins Virgil, suddenly in very high spirits. (Janus hasn’t heard that nickname in a while, and he bites back the nostalgia. There will be time for that later.) “I saw Patton coming out of your room earlier. Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“There's nothing there,” snaps Janus, but he isn't unflustered. Virgil's teasing has elicited some kind of response—he isn't sure what it is, but it makes Janus’ defensiveness less believable.

“Are you sure? You were really quick to say no,” he says, fully aware that if he feels he's pushing he’ll back off.

Janus sighs with mock aggravation. “Patton doesn’t like me like that.”

“But… _you_ like _him?”_ Virgil asks, knowing that now he's crossed into Feelings territory, and he ought to tread carefully.

“Gah! I don't know.” Janus falls onto the bed, voice muffled as he talks and breathes into a pillow. “He's kind to me.”

“Understandable.” And here Virgil changes the subject. They talk for a good hour about meaningless crap, like random conspiracy theories or shit they saw on Tumblr, and it feels good to be able to argue so freely with his _best friend_ about whether it is or isn't ethical to longify a Furby.

They aren't _healed_ , exactly, but they're _healing._


	3. surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil decides to talk to Remus. Well, maybe not "talk," exactly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: frogs, Remus eating fingernails (so sorry), pretend/play-strangling with a pillow

Virgil knows the next thing to do is to make up with Remus, but if he's honest, he's gotten a little more apprehensive of the mustachioed side since Virgil left. He’s unpredictable, and that's exactly what aggravates his anxiety.

He stops pacing—it won't do him any good. _Relax. Remus has never tried to hurt you, you used to call him your friend._ He's just friendly but in… his own _unique_ way.

Virgil knocks on the slime-green door and hears a clatter from inside. Remus doesn't answer on the second knock either, so, shouldering his courage, Virgil enters.

And of course. The room is full of frogs—or are those toads? He can never remember the difference—and Remus is hanging from the ceiling by his ankles. He grins down at Virgil, pointed teeth reminiscent of a shark.

“Hey, emo! You've got good timing. Think you can get me down?”

Virgil sighs. He gestures towards Remus with one hand, and Remus falls to the floor as the rope disappears.

“I'm fine!” Remus gives him a thumbs-up. Virgil hadn’t meant for him to fall, and he’s relieved that Remus isn't hurt—although, knowing Remus, he'd probably still act like nothing is wrong even if he _did_ get hurt because it wouldn't bother him.

Remus springs to his feet, wiping goo off his outfit, and Virgil realizes the floor is sticky with who-knows-what. _Gross._

“What is this?”

“Oh, it's just frog secretion.” Remus seems unperturbed by the unpleasant sensation, but Virgil can feel it through his sneakers and wonders _what,_ exactly, the frogs have been secreting.

Remus is staring at Virgil now in that unblinking, off-putting way.

“I, so, uh…” Why, oh, why must Virgil always trip over his tongue and then forget what he meant to say. “Hey, Remus.” The other side waves. “It's been a while, huh?”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean, I saw you when we watched Frozen.”

“Well, that's true,” concedes Virgil. “But I meant…” He picks at a thread on his hoodie. “We haven't really… hung out? One-on-one? In a while.”

Remus’ eyes brighten, and suddenly he's next to Virgil—hadn't he just been over there?—grabbing his hand.

“Do you want to watch The Princess and the Frog?” he inquires with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“You know what, sure, since that doesn't involve one of your ‘pranks’ in which you attempt to poison another side,” says Virgil.

“It didn't _work,”_ defends Remus.

“Yes, but still you _tried_ to poison him.”

They’re now in the “Dark” sides’ common room. Virgil settles on the couch, and Remus lays down perpendicular across the couch with his legs in Virgil’s lap.

This is to be expected—Remus has never really understood the concept of “personal space.”

Remus conjures a plastic Tupperware container and starts loudly crunching whatever its contents are between his teeth.

“Hey, Remus, buddy, what are you eating?” asks Virgil, suddenly concerned.

“Human fingernails,” Remus says around his mouthful. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

Despite the rocky start of their movie-watching afternoon, most of Remus’ stupid jokes (the less bloody ones, he's always toned it down for Virgil) still make Virgil laugh, and Remus seems pleased with that result.

Remus sits up. Virgil isn't looking at Remus, so he's taken entirely by surprise when Remus kisses him before standing up.

“Bye, emo~” Remus sinks out back to his room with a wink, presumably to resume _whatever_ he'd been doing with those frogs and their secretions—Virgil doesn't want to think about it.

Well… _that's_ new.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It's been two days since Remus and Virgil watched movies together. Virgil is hanging out in Janus’ room, laying on his back on the bed while Janus sits at his desk. Janus is softly humming something.

Virgil sits up with no warning. “Janus?”

Janus stops humming. “Hm?"

“Has Remus, uh… ever… kissed you?” He can't wrap his head around it.

Janus frowns at Virgil, trying to gauge whether or not he's serious. “No, he most definitely _hasn’t._ Why do you ask…?” Oh, Virgil _cannot_ tell Janus that Remus kissed him, but Janus’ eyes widen as he figures it out on his own. “Virgil? Did Remus kiss you?” Virgil groans into his palms. “Oh my _god!_ Do you think he likes you? ...do you like him?” he adds quietly.

Virgil grabs a pillow off the bed and throws it. It hits Janus in the face, and he splutters. Janus picks up the pillow, proceeding to attempt to “strangle” a laughing Virgil with it.

The door opens, and Patton enters. “Janus—!” he says, then stops as he sees Virgil. “Sorry for not knocking. I can… go? No, wait, what's going on?”

“Pillow fight,” says Janus, and Virgil uses his distraction to pry the pillow off his face

“Holy shit, Jay—”

“Language—”

“—I know you weren't really trying to strangle me, but you did a damn good job,” wheezes Virgil, face red.

“Anyway, we were just discussing how Virgil’s in love with Remus,” Janus says matter-of-factly, and Virgil hisses.

_“You don't have to tell him that!”_

Janus looks taken aback. “Oh, sorry, Virge, I didn't realize it mattered that much to you.”

“Should-should I come back later?” Patton repeats uncertainly.

“No, it's fine,” answers Virgil. “Now I can tell you all about Janus' enormous crush on y—” Here, Janus tackles Virgil, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Nobody. My crush on nobody.”

“Oh, okay.” Patton tilts his head, a little confused. “Hey, Virgil, you know that it's okay if you do like Remus, right?”

Virgil nods, and Patton winces. "Janus, honey, why don't you let Virgil talk?”

_Honey?_ Janus takes his hand off Virgil's mouth, trying to conceal the way his heart skipped a beat.

“I never did get a response earlier,” realizes Janus. “If-if you're not uncomfortable telling us, I would like to know, since you and Remus both have been the only people I talked to for years and it's not like I should be the first person to know or anything.” He picks at his nails.

“Um, okay.” Virgil sits up. “I… uh… actually, I don't know.” The tips of his ears and nose are still pink.

“Do you want us to help you figure it out?” Virgil nods, and Janus and Patton join him on the bed.

“Um, okay, so…” Patton clicks his tongue as he thinks.

“Firstly, did you like it when he kissed you?” cuts in Janus, and Patton muffles a squeal behind his hand.

“Sorry, wait, he _kissed_ you?” demands Patton, eyes practically glowing with excitement.

“Yeah,” answers Virgil. He tries to remember what it felt like—it was brief—and blushes again. “I… think I did? Like it, I mean?” he mumbles.

“Well, there's the first step. That may or may not be your final answer. Another question: how often have you thought about that moment since it happened, or how often have you thought about kissing him again?”

“About once an hour,” guesses Virgil. Patton’s bouncing in place a little, and he seems ready to explode.

“Interesting. Lastly: this may be awkward, but I want you to imagine kissing someone else close to you; for example, Patton or me.” Janus is watching him very closely. “Does it feel similar at all?”

Virgil makes a face. “No, it would be _weird_ to kiss either of you.”

Janus smiles slyly at Virgil, and it occurs to Virgil that he now knows the answer to Janus' original question. Janus still remembers how to weasel an answer out of Virgil.

“So?” asks Patton, eyes very big.

“I do like him,” Virgil admits, as much to them as to himself. “I like Remus. It was nice when he kissed me, and I want to do it again.”

“That wasn't so hard,” crows Janus. “And now you're going to tell him that!”

Virgil stands up. “Yeah!” He blinks. “Wait, no, what?”

“I'm just kidding,” smirks Janus. “Unless you think that you can just… do it like that.”

Virgil shakes his head. “No. No, that's… no. I need the right moment.” He stares at his hands.

Patton puts a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you decide to do, we’ll support you! We can be your wingmen or whatever it's called.”

“Thanks.” Virgil smiles shakily up at the fatherly side. “I _will_ tell him, I just need some time.” He stretches. “I think I'll leave you two alone. Didn't you want to talk with Janus?”

“Oh, yes,” remembers Patton.

“So I'll be taking my leave now.” He strides out of the room, closing the door behind him.

It's… a lot to take in but… it isn't _bad._ Virgil doesn't mind his new revelation all that much, or, for that matter, Remus and his weird frog secretion and his strange habit of eating fingernails. He didn’t know something like that could grow on him.

A frog croaks from right behind Virgil—from inside his hood, in fact—and he screams.

“Damn it,” he mutters, looking at the small frog now in his hands. It’s… kind of cute, actually. He doesn’t think Remus will mind if he’s missing one frog. “I’m going to name you Acorn, ‘cause you’re small and cute.” Acorn croaks quietly, and Virgil laughs. “I guess you like that name, huh? Let’s get you to a tank."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also?? i didnt plan any of this, Remus literally has a mind of his own and he single-handedly derailed my fanfiction in less than a thousand words


	4. tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus notices that one frog is missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i drew Acorn and posted the drawings over on Tumblr! i'd never drawn a frog before, so i'm still relatively pleased with this ^^ https://muffin-arts.tumblr.com/post/617603686109265920/this-is-acorn-hes-virgils-pet-frog-given-to
> 
> trigger warning: food, mentions of eating

Virgil shuffles from the stairs to the kitchen.

“Hey, good morning, Logan.” He yawns.

“Good morning, Virgil.” Logan continues to stare at the coffee machine through half-closed eyelids. It beeps and he jumps, startled, before grabbing his mug. (It says “cool” on it.) He steps out of Virgil’s way, and it occurs to Virgil that he needs a mug if he wants to drink coffee. Where would he get a mug…? Oh yeah, the cupboard. He picks up the nearest mug and sets it under the coffee maker.

Once his coffee is ready, he joins Logan in the living room. Janus nods at Virgil from where he’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Logan.

Virgil, only slightly more awake now, looks back and forth between the two. “Oh yeah, Patton said Janus pretended to be Logan? What exactly happened?”

  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan remarks drily, and Janus rolls his eyes. Virgil is far too tired to argue the matter—he wasn’t even there in the first place—and sits down halfway between them.

When Patton arrives at the bottom of the stairs, he glances at each of the sides on the couch with growing confusion before going to get cereal.

Patton, holding a bowl of Froot Loops and a spoon, sits down between Virgil and Janus. “Anybody wanna tell me why you’re all six feet apart?”

Logan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Social distancing,” then clears his throat.

“Alright, well, I don’t know what that’s all about,” says Patton, even more confused.

"It's nothing," says Janus, reading a book on philosophy, except his eyes aren't moving.

They sit in silence save for the sounds of drinking coffee and the clinking of Patton's spoon against the bowl for a few minutes before Patton asks, "I don't suppose any of you have seen Roman?" Logan shakes his head, and the other two make vague noises to imply that, no, they haven't. Patton frowns. "He never responds when I knock or call his name."

“That… is starting to get concerning,” agrees Virgil. He looks at Patton, who’s resisting the urge to fold in on himself, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. It doesn’t go unnoticed to him that, on Patton’s other side, Janus takes his hand, even if Janus otherwise stays perfectly still.

Remus thunders suddenly down the stairs. “Code red! Er, code green? A frog is missing! He’s about four inches tall and brown and sits in the palm of your hand?!” He seems genuinely frantic, and Virgil feels a pang of guilt.

“Come here.” He grabs Remus by the wrist and tugs him up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” questions Remus.

“To see your missing frog,” replies Virgil. He’s abandoned his half-empty coffee mug on the floor by the couch, but he doesn’t care anymore.

Patton and Janus watch the two go, and exchange amused looks.

“Hm, I wasn’t aware they were friends again,” muses Logan.

As soon as Virgil’s door opens, the light turns on, and Remus looks around with interest—it isn’t so different from what he remembers, except for possibly the Nightmare Before Christmas poster and the large glass tank on the table by the far wall.

“I have your frog,” admits Virgil. “He escaped by hiding in my hood. His name… is Acorn.”

Remus already has his face pressed to the glass of the tank, eyes wide. Virgil chuckles, allowing himself to ruffle Remus’ hair. It’s… soft, softer than he’d expected.

“Whoa. He looks so happy,” says Remus as he stares at the frog. _Yeah, he does,_ thinks Virgil, smiling at Remus.

“I did a lot of research on frogs,” says Virgil. “I know he’s not technically real in the same way that neither of us is real, but I really want to do him justice.” Remus is still pressed against the tank. “Do you want to hold him?” Remus nods.

Virgil carefully, carefully lifts the lid, and extracts the little frog, who fits in the palm of his hand. Now Remus’ face is close to his hand, and Virgil can feel Remus’ breathing on his skin.

“He is our son,” declares Remus decisively, sitting back to watch Virgil.

“O-oh?” replies Virgil weakly—how is he supposed to respond to this? Happily, he supposes.

“Yeah.” Remus isn’t staring at the frog anymore, he’s looking at Virgil, and Virgil tries with all his might Not to Panic, to Retain Human Speech, and to Stop Being Flustered. Of course, this only partially works.

“Say, Virgil?” Remus asks, suddenly serious, such a rare occurrence for him that Virgil is immediately anxious. “Did you think any more about our movie afternoon?”

“How so?” squeaks Virgil, heart beating about a mile a minute.

Remus doesn’t move, doesn’t fidget, just _looks_ at Virgil, and the depths of emotion in that gaze scares Virgil. “Ah, so it was unreciprocated.”

“NO!” shouts Virgil, face red, and Remus startles. “Not at all. I…” He doesn’t know how to handle the way Remus is looking at him. Despite the man being entirely sharp edges, he looks somehow soft, and Virgil can’t even begin to unpack the slew of emotions _that_ thought unleashes. He trips over his tongue again and forgets what he’s trying to say—a repeat occurrence, he’s about to cry if Remus doesn’t get it—but Remus understands somehow. Remus helps to cup his hand around Acorn, who’d started to slip, but he’s gazing at Virgil with a level of adoration he’s never seen before directed at _anyone,_ let alone at himself.

“You have Janus and Patton to thank for helping me figure it out.” Virgil looks away, but he notices Remus’ not-so-subtle flinch at hearing the name _Janus._ “Hey, Remus?” he tries. “Did… do you know what Janus said? About you and Roman?”

Remus sighs then runs a hand through his hair in a gesture that really reminds Virgil of Roman (they _are_ twins, after all). “I do know.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Did it… hurt you?” asks Virgil. He doesn’t know his new boundaries yet, but it’s unknown whether that will cause more harm than good.

“A little,” admits Remus, and Virgil, throwing caution to the wind, hugs him. Remus makes a strangled sort of mewling sound and wraps his arms around Virgil with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Virgil blinks rapidly—why is he _crying_ now?—trying to dispel the tears threatening to fall. Remus is so vulnerable as he huddles in Virgil’s arms, and he may actually be crying too, judging by the way his shoulders are shaking.

“It’s nothing,” Remus says, but Virgil is one hundred percent not convinced. “At least, I tried to tell myself that.” He pulls back from Virgil, wiping uselessly at his eyes and nose with his frilly sleeves.

“Hey, no,” Virgil says reproachfully, and he grabs the box of tissues he keeps on the table at all times. Remus stares at it, and Virgil grabs a tissue and dabs at Remus’ face. “See? Like this. I… don’t know if you’ve ever used a tissue.”

“No,” admits Remus. “I’ve always used my sleeve. Or my hand. Or a nearby moose.” His breathing is labored, but he’s slightly peppier somehow.

_Aha!_ Virgil just needs to get him rambling, and he’ll be sufficiently distracted enough. But what will Remus want to ramble about…?

Ah.

“Hey, Remus?” Virgil asks carefully, not making eye contact as he dries Remus’ face. “Why don’t you, uh, tell me about what you were doing with those frogs.”

Remus grins toothily, all shark-fanged and intimidating—and Virgil tries not to notice how it’s not, in fact, all that intimidating anymore, but rather… cute? Endearing? _Argh._

He distracts himself from trying not to notice Remus’ adorable smile by trying even harder not to listen to his story. He doesn’t mind it when Remus rambles, it’s more the… subject matter, he reminds himself, periodically nodding and humming in agreement. (A few words, such as “moist” and “excrete” and “breeding ritual” slip through Virgil’s defenses, and he refuses to think too hard about any of them, particularly not in conjunction with one another.)

(At one point, Virgil asks about the rope and why Remus was tied to the ceiling, and Remus replies, “Oh, that? I’m just a kinky bastard~”)

By the time Virgil’s done with the tissues, Remus is out of breath, and he flops backward onto Virgil’s bed with a breathy giggle that makes Virgil want to kiss him senseless.

Virgil quickly reigns in his overactive imagination with a grimace and a slap on the wrist. He lays down gingerly next to Remus, and Remus turns to look at Virgil, his beautiful green eyes twinkling the brightest Virgil has ever seen them. Again he resists the urge to lurch forward and lock lips with him—seriously, how had he not known before how he felt about Remus?—opting to grab Remus’ hand.

“You’re so small,” chuckles Remus. “Even your hands are small, see?” He spreads his fingers, and Virgil does the same, keeping their palms pressed together. “See? You’re small.”

“I’m… not that small…” Virgil’s aware that he’s pouting, and usually, he’d care, but not right now, not here, with him. Remus laughs again, and Virgil stiffens when Remus nuzzles into his hair.

“Is this okay?” comes the muffled question, tickling Virgil’s scalp.

“Yes.” Virgil doesn’t think he’s breathing.

There’s a knock on Virgil’s door, and they both sit up, but Remus doesn’t let go of Virgil’s hand, he notes with a small smile.

“Yeah?” Virgil calls, and Janus opens the door.

Remus blanches instantly.

“Remus—” starts Janus, but Remus is already untangling his fingers from Virgil’s.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go since we all know I’m evil,” he says with a humorless laugh so different from the happy giggling he’d been doing in front of Virgil that it makes Virgil’s heart hurt.

“Remus, please, I’m sorry. Don’t go.” Janus blocks the door.

“Are you _serious?”_ Again Virgil is reminded of Roman.

“I didn’t mean it, first of all. You’re not… _evil.”_ Janus hisses through his teeth in frustration. “I didn’t believe it. I’m a liar! Remember, old friend?” Remus crosses his arms. Janus growls, a quiet, low, guttural sound in his throat, and it really hits Virgil just how desperate he is. Janus can’t bear to lose Remus, not after just gaining back Virgil—that isn’t a fair trade, or even really a trade at all—and he’s willing to try anything once to make it up to Remus, so long as he _can_ have him back.

_“...please.”_

This makes Remus turn, makes him look at Janus with wide, scared eyes. He can’t remember—doesn’t know—the last time _Deceit_ had begged.

_Croak._

“Oh, shit, I dropped Acorn.” Virgil drops to a crouch to pick him up, but Janus is faster.

“You have… a tiny frog?” he asks, holding Acorn up to his eye level. “And his name is Acorn?”

“Yup,” chuckles Virgil. Remus has, of course, also lowered himself to his knees, and is now cooing at the frog in Janus’ hands.

“Don’t think it’s all better,” says Remus out of the corner of his mouth, in that high-pitched voice people always talk to pets with. “But I’ll allow you to be in my presence.”

Janus is looking more at the frog than at Remus, but Virgil knows that his subtle smile isn’t because of the frog. “Because I _totally_ need your permission,” he replies, also in that high-pitched voice.

And that is how Patton finds three grown sides huddled on the floor around a tiny brown frog called Acorn.

  
And _that’s_ how Patton joins them on the floor, huddled around a frog. And maybe Patton’s very close to Janus, so close that his elbow keeps brushing against Janus’ side, but he doesn’t mind it all that much. Maybe he keeps glancing—not-so-surreptitiously—at Patton because a happy, bubbly Patton reduces him to a mess, but he likes the warm, fuzzy feeling inside.


	5. grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> solidarity in grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like logan a lot but,,, i dont,,, like,, WRITING him?? ?? idk

Logan pauses outside the familiar white door, a name written at the top in gold. He recalls what Patton had said before. Knocking couldn’t hurt.

No response.

Of course.

Roman is notoriously stubborn. In the past, he’s refused to leave his room after an argument for days until the person he was angry with had apologized.

Logan has been the person to apologize several times, even when Roman was in the wrong.

“Roman…” he sighs, knowing he won’t get an answer. He rests his forehead on the door, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. I wish you wouldn’t bottle up your emotions—although saying that makes me a hypocrite too.” Logan turns so that he’s resting his back on the door and slides down so he’s sitting against the door.

“I hope none of what you may be feeling right now is because of me,” continues Logan. Even if Roman isn’t listening, it’s somehow therapeutic to imagine him sitting on the other side of the door as Logan talks. “I can’t pretend I know what you may be going through, and I know I’m the last person you would want to, for lack of a better word, ‘vent’ to, but I would like you to know that I would be willing to listen.”

Logan’s eyes are closed, so he doesn’t notice the other person until there’s a scuffling beside him.

Remus sits next to him on the floor next to Roman’s door. Remus smiles at him, a tired smile, and threads his fingers through Logan’s. The sensation is comforting.

“Hey, bro,” speaks up Remus to the hypothetical Roman behind the door. “Roman. I don’t know what you’re doing in there, or what you think you’re doing in there, but they all miss you.” _I miss you,_ are the words figuratively written across Remus’ expression, albeit the ones he doesn’t express. “I hope you come out soon. Janus says he’s sorry, you know. You’re making Patton worry. And I want to fight you again, like old times. It’s no fun when you let me knock you out.” He pulls a face at the lack of a response. “Come on, don’t you want to hear the gossip about me and Virgil?” Remus exhales. It isn’t quite a sigh—it’s gentler than that—but it carries the same sentiment.

“You and Virgil?” questions Logan.

Remus chuckles. “Yeah, nerd. We’re… dating? I think?” He smiles, presumably imagining Virgil.

“Oh.” Logan thinks about this for a moment. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Remus looks at Logan. “Are you and Roman… close?”

Logan doesn’t know how to answer that question. “We argue a lot,” he admits, brow furrowed. “I wish we’d talk more instead.”

“Oh.” Remus is silent. “Me too.”

Logan glances at Remus, who’s offering him, what, a sympathetic smile? Slowly, he attempts a smile in return. His effort is weak, but it’s… something, and Remus squeezes his hand.

Patton appears at the top of the stairs. He’s clearly surprised to see both of them there—or possibly either of them—but he smiles a little sadly at them, and then at the door behind them.

“Hey.” He sits on Logan’s other side. “Roman, I miss you.” His head lowers slowly until he’s resting it on Logan’s shoulder. The weight is comforting, grounding. “I wish you’d just come out, and… and we can talk! We can all apologize for every mean thing we ever said when we were hurt, and bond over it all! I can make hot chocolate, and we can watch Mulan after.” Something wet lands on Logan’s shoulder, and he realizes that Patton is crying.

The three sides sit in silence. They let Patton cry, and then nobody speaks. It feels better somehow to do this together than alone, and the next time Patton comes to cry outside Roman’s door, Logan is there to hold him. Whenever Logan wants to yell at the hypothetical Roman, Remus is there to provide a warm hand on his shoulder. Whenever Remus starts missing his brother too much, Logan and Patton are there to tell stories, to make him laugh.


	6. reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insecurities

When Virgil shuffles downstairs one morning, Logan and Janus are engaged in a respectful yet energetic debate, a stark contrast from when he found them sitting on opposite ends of the couch and ignoring one another.

It fills Virgil with pride to see the two getting along so well.

He rinses out his mug, then returns to his room.

Remus is on his back, hanging off of Virgil's bed. He grins up at Virgil, which is really adorable with the way his hair is hanging down.

“Hey, babe.” Remus sticks his tongue out, and Virgil blushes.

“What?” wheezes Virgil.

“I was trying something out. I don't think I like it.” Remus frames Virgil's face with his fingers like he's taking a picture, even sticking his tongue out. “You look really nice upside down, by the way.”

“You too,” Virgil replies, and Remus winks. “Hate you, hun.”

Remus raises his eyebrows, but doesn't comment on the nickname. “Hate you too, sweetheart.” That might work, he notes mentally—he doesn't totally hate it.

“So what are you doing?” Virgil settles next to him on the bed, pushing aside a piece of hair that was in danger of falling in Remus’ mouth (which is a truly horrid place and it's not like Virgil wants to explore it with his tongue).

“Viewing the world from a new perspective,” remarks Remus, which is unusually deep for him. But Virgil supposes Roman’s absence is taking a toll on all of them, and Remus _is_ his brother, so if Remus is a little more thoughtful or introspective it's entirely justified.

Virgil smiles. “It's a good thing we're not human, right? All that blood rushing to your head would not be good for you.” Virgil expects Remus to go on a tangent here about blood and he doesn't, and Virgil frowns. “Remus?”

“Yeah?” He's unusually subdued. Something is definitely wrong.

“Are you okay?”

Remus hoists himself up onto the bed so he's no longer dangling. “I'm peachy, Verge, why do you ask?” Virgil gives him a pointed look, and he slouches, wrapping his arms around his knees. “No. Not really.”

Virgil puts a gentle hand on Remus' arm. “Do you want to talk about it?” Remus loosens his arms around his legs. He nods after a moment, and Virgil puts on his best reassuring smile.

“I know you accept me, obviously, duh, and Janus doesn't mind me, but I'm not enough of a part of your family to join you for breakfast. That's highly intimate and I’d just make it uncomfortable.” He snorts, but then he sniffs, and his eyes are brimming with tears.

“Oh, shit.” Virgil pulls his feet up onto the bed, wrapping his entire body around the curled-up form of Remus. “That's not true.”

“No?” Virgil can barely make out the word.

“No, not at all! I don't think you’ve gotten any one-on-one time with Patton lately, but he doesn't seem to mind you all that much.” Virgil starts to stroke Remus’ hair.

“He seemed pretty opposed to me in my video,” reminds Remus.

“Yeah, that's true, but he accepted Janus and if I remember correctly helped me figure out my feelings for you and even… uh…” Virgil blushes.

“What?”

“He… told me that it's okay if I'm… in love with you,” squeaks Virgil, and Remus, with a laugh (and a face covered in tears) pulls Virgil down to kiss him on the forehead.

“I guess you're right,” says Remus. He starts to wipe his face on his sleeve but stops, and Virgil hands him the entire tissue box.

Remus uses up half the tissues in the box and Virgil doesn't actually have a trash can in his room. Luckily, he can just wave one hand and the trash discorporates—a perk of being in the Mindscape.

Virgil is still wrapped around Remus the best he can be, which is actually quite difficult on account of Remus having long limbs. Still, if he stretches, it works out okay… sort of.

“Boop.” Virgil is a little offended at the way Remus is grinning at him.

“Excuse me?” he splutters.

In a sing-song voice, Remus says, “You're blushing.” Virgil wrinkles his nose, and Remus kisses the tip of it. “You're really cute when gay panicking.”

Virgil hides his face in his hands and makes a sound that can only be described as, “hhhHHHhHhH.” Remus mostly stops messing with him after that, pulling Virgil into his lap to cuddle.

The next morning, Remus opens his door to find Virgil waiting.

Virgil holds out a hand for him, muttering, “Milord,” but his ears are red. Remus takes the hand with a nod and a bow, reciprocating the mutter of, “Milord.”

Together, they descend the stairs.

Today Patton has joined in on whatever Logan and Janus are discussing, but their voices are overlapping too much to hear what they're saying. Patton stops arguing long enough to call to Virgil and Remus. He hustles over to poorly explain why they should be on his side, and they barely follow. Still, none of the sides are bothered by Remus' presence and Virgil make sure to point that out later to his boyfriend (after all, he's allowed to call him that now).


	7. second chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took a little longer with this chapter than i usually do because it addresses some difficult feelings and thoughts. the subject matter is related to what Patton says at the end of SvS Redux, so tread carefully
> 
> https://spectralheartt.tumblr.com/post/617139442378031104/spectralheartt-alright-look-not-to-be-salty-on i reread this tumblr post several times. i wanted to make sure i had it right

"Janus?"

Patton's at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister for support, and judging from how swollen his eyes are, he's been crying.

Janus sets aside his book. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just fine," he laughs mirthlessly. "But you can tell that's a lie. Because you're Deceit. And that's okay."

Janus is… confused, to say the least. "I'm sorry, Patton, I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"The only reason I wouldn't listen to you before is that you're _Deceit."_ Patton shakes his head. "That's not fair. Lying… isn't all bad, isn't _always_ bad. I made an unfair decision based on what I _thought_ was right. And then I learned that I'd been wrong, about… a lot of things, and…" He massages his temples.

"So basically… I told Thomas I'm sorry. What I never did was apologize to you." Patton takes a slow step closer. "Do you really think… I can make up for what I did? To either, no, _any_ of you?"

No wonder Patton's been crying. Janus had been too busy himself trying not to think about how he feels about Patton that he didn't even think about how _Patton_ must be feeling after all that.

"I don't know." It's the most, well, truthful thing he can possibly say right now. Patton doesn't seem reassured by this. "Like I said before, one factor I think is very important is whether or not you're trying to make up for it, and I'd say you are. Do you think you are?"

Patton shrugs half-heartedly. "I _think_ so. But how do I know?"

"There isn't one solid metric for gauging something like that. I _wish_ there was, but it's not that simple." He wishes Patton had it easier, not as someone who’s probably hopelessly in love with him but as just another person. He knows how hard it can be to repent for one's mistakes and sometimes it's a much longer road to forgiveness than is deserved. Sometimes that road is littered with more mistakes, and you have to make them in order to fully move on. But there's no way he can fully express these thoughts to Patton. Patton needs to hear them, but Janus can’t make his mouth form the words.

"How do I know if I _deserve_ to be forgiven? Am I even worth it? Am I trying too hard, should I just give up?"

"No," Janus says before he even has the chance to think about it. "I know this will sound cliche, but everyone, and I mean _everyone,_ deserves that chance. Including you. No one's mistakes are so grievous that a second chance is too much for them to ask for. You're trying, you're truly trying, Patton. Many people can't even say that much!"

"I really thought I was doing the right thing, all that time, huh? I really thought…" He doesn't finish, but Janus knows. "Why didn't anyone stop me? Am I that controlling?"

Janus wants to say _no, of course that’s not true,_ but he’s not sure anymore what’s true—something Patton must be very, very familiar with by now as well. “Patton…” He sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Patton asks, and everything about him is slightly off-kilter, like the whole situation has thrown him off-balance. “You don’t need to apologize! You weren’t in the wrong this whole time.”

“No, but…” Janus wants to curl in upon himself, but that’s not currently an option. Instead, he shakes his head in an attempt to clear it and formulate an answer that might satisfy Patton. “What I do is for Thomas, but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t have gone about it in a better way. I antagonized Virgil from the start, and while it’s true that he also antagonized me, I could’ve been the better person. I assumed that the best way to get you all to listen to me is if I was the villain, and so I acted the part. I didn’t have to say those things, to falsely flatter Roman to attempt to get him to realize that we could be on the same side—especially since it backfired in the end. We all saw that payed off. I’m… _totally_ not blaming myself for Roman’s disappearance.

“But I was angry, he made fun of me, of my _name,_ and I opened up enough, I took that risk to tell you and Thomas my name, and he… he took the low road. I could have held my tongue, I didn’t have to snap back, but I went for his heart, the one weakness I knew would hurt him the most.” He finally makes eye contact with Patton. “You’re not the _only_ one in the wrong here. We all made mistakes, some more recently or more grievously than others. I’m sure that if you asked any of the other sides, they’d agree that there are things that they wish they hadn’t done, and things they never did but wish they had.”

Patton is crying softly, his eyes glistening, but… he’s smiling; only a little, but it’s still a smile. “You’re right, Janus. Thank you for… trying to talk some sense into me. But I never actually _did_ apologize, which was the whole reason I came to you. So… I’m sorry, _again._ I think I’m going to be saying that a lot, huh?”

Janus tilts his head thoughtfully. “Patton, you don’t give yourself enough credit for what you have to do. You are his Morality. Sure, you might make the wrong decision, but that just means Thomas won’t make that mistake again. You _are_ learning from your choices. You don’t always have to have the answers, not right away, at least. Sometimes it might take a discussion to come to a conclusion. You shouldn’t have to hold yourself to such standards. We’d all understand, I think, if every now and then, you _didn’t_ know. If that happens, we’d just come to the right decision together.”

“Thank you.” Patton’s tears have made shiny tracks down his cheeks, but he’s beaming at Janus. “Somehow you knew what I needed to hear.”

The two spend the next hour with their arms wrapped around each other. Janus strokes Patton’s hair, and Patton lets himself have a much-needed and a much _deserved_ rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of my main goals with this fic is 1) to be less cliche, 2) to address the characters more as people and less as caricatures; neither of which I've really been able to do or, for that matter, even attempted to do with my previous fics. how am i doing?
> 
> (i'm very emotionally exhausted and i'd like to take a nap now)


	8. confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look at that, over a thousand hits :)

Patton likes Janus.

He really does.

He doesn't know what to do with this information.

Patton paces for a while—back and forth, back and forth—before making a decision. He might as well talk to someone about this.

Maybe Virgil will return the favor.

He knocks on the storm gray door, and Virgil's voice, slightly muffled through the door, calls, “Come in.” 

When Patton opens the door, Virgil is snuggled up against Remus.

“Oh, hey, padre.” Remus waves one finger at a time.

“You're not busy, are you?” clarifies Patton.

“Nah.” Virgil sits up, and Remus groans. “We can cuddle later,” he murmurs, and Remus makes a face but sits up too. “So what is it, Patton?”

“Remember when Janus and I helped you with your feelings toward Remus?” Patton clasps his hands in front of him. “I was hoping maybe I could talk about Janus.”

“Oh?” Virgil’s eyebrow is very, very high, and Remus leans in, intrigued.

Patton chuckles nervously. “Yeah. I… I like him,” he admits with a small smile.

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Virgil sounds as if he's just realized something. “So… both… Well, shit.” Remus is staring at him, eager to be let in on this realization, and he grins when Virgil whispers something in his ear.

“Okay, so, um…” Patton continues when they're finished telling secrets. “I like Janus, a lot. What… what do I do about that?”

“You could, I dunno, try telling him?” suggests Virgil.

“I get that, but how?”

“You could always be direct,” says Remus. “That seemed to work for me,” he purrs, nuzzling behind Virgil's ear.

“Stop,” giggles Virgil. “Seriously, we have company.” Reluctantly, Remus pulls away.

Patton stares at his hands. “On the other hand, he probably doesn't feel the same way.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Virgil screeches, and Patton flinches. “Are you… No. You're serious. I don't believe that.”

“What?” asks Patton shakily.

“Patton, you don't really think that he doesn't like you, right?” asks Virgil slowly, almost patronizingly. “Because I think it's really freaking obvious how he feels.”

Patton brightens. “You think I've got a chance?”

“I'm 110% sure you do,” crows Remus. “Go get 'em, tiger.”

“Okay,” Patton says resolutely. “I’m going to tell him how I feel.”

“Hell yeah.” Virgil grins.

“Thanks for your help!” Patton calls as he leaves. Virgil and Remus high-five each other before beginning to cuddle again.

Patton spots a familiar black cape, and, steeling his courage, latches onto Janus' arm. “Hi,” he says breathlessly.

Janus stares at Patton, and he licks his lips nervously before continuing. “So, Jan, I, uh… Oh, screw it. I like you. A lot.”

“You know, Patton.” Janus is smiling. “You're an ignorant, clingy little nobody. It’s _your_ fault that Thomas didn’t go to the callback and missed the opportunity of a lifetime. Thomas doesn't need you. And I _certainly_ don't like you back.” Still smiling in a sickly sweet way, he wrenches his arm out of Patton's grasp and turns, slamming the door to his room behind him with an awfully final sound.

Patton can't see through the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	9. dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where there is anger there is always pain underneath.” ― Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: non-graphic violence, brief mention of blood

Patton grabs "Janus'" arm, and he carefully prevents himself from grinning. _Stay calm and carry out the plan._

"Hi," Patton says in a way that seems nervous. Just how deep a sway does Deceit hold over him? "So, Jan, I, uh…" _Jan?_ "Oh, screw it. I like you. A lot." So _that's_ how deeply the lies run.

"Janus" thinks for a moment—he'll have to say something very emotionally charged in order to bring Patton around—in order to, say, give him a change in perspective.

He smiles, even as he grits his teeth. "You know, Patton." He knows he doesn't mean it, but _Janus_ does. "You're an ignorant, clingy little nobody. It's your fault that Thomas didn't go to the callback and missed the opportunity of a lifetime." Yes, that's right, if it's _Patton's_ fault, it can't be _his_ fault. No need for _him_ to feel guilty. "Thomas doesn't need you. And I _certainly_ don't like you back." He pulls his arm forcefully away from Patton for the effect, relishing the stunned look on Patton's face. He'll see. They'll _all_ see. He's only trying to help.

"Janus" slams the door shut behind him for good measure, and, as soon as it's closed, he drops the disguise.

"Hello, Deceit," crows Roman, a vindictive grin on his lips. "Or do you prefer… _Janus?"_ He runs a long fingernail down the edge of Janus' jaw. "I hear that's what you go by these days."

Roman is barely recognizable. For one, he looks as though he's been in a fight. His silky sash holds several tears, and his sleeves have black marks as though he'd been thrown to the ground. Second, on his head is a tarnished, lopsided crown. There is a single jewel, despite the empty indents obviously intending to hold gems going all the way around it. The jewel is red and has a broad crack through the center.

Third, every strand of Roman's usually perfect hair is out of place, and his wide, bloodshot eyes never seem to know what to focus on, even as he "appraises" Janus.

"I told your little boyfriend to go fuck himself," says Roman sweetly.

"What did you do to him?" says Janus—or rather, that's what he _would_ have said if he could speak.

Roman laughs. "Oh, that's right~! You can't talk. Couldn't have you screaming for help and letting the others know my plans, now could I? Let me fix that." He snaps, and Janus finds he's regained the ability to speak.

"You leave Patton alone," he snarls, straining against the ropes restraining him.

Roman laughs, but it's high, cold, and cruel. The man in front of Janus barely resembles the prince he'd been, and Janus refuses to admit that scares him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Remus and Virgil both jump as Virgil's door slams open against the wall with enough force to leave a handle-shaped dent.

"Holy _shit."_ Virgil looks at the dent in the wall, then at Patton, who's panting from the force of slamming open the door. "Patton, sorry, but _what_ the _fuck?"_

"Something's wrong." Patton sounds deadly serious, voice steady despite the tear tracks on his cheeks, and Virgil instantly recognizes the feeling of _badbadbad_ emanating from the very fabric of the Mindscape itself.

  
  


* * *

"Don't worry, I wouldn't _hurt_ Patton." Roman studies his nails with a malicious grin. "He's my friend, after all! I merely… let's see, how can I word this… _helped_ him come around." He stares right at Janus as he says this, and Janus suddenly pictures Patton crying. The anger swells again, but Roman's bonds have proven to be too strong and Janus knows it's futile to struggle against them. He grits his teeth, eyes burning holes in Roman.

Roman turns to fully face Janus. "You know, originally my plan was to pretend to be you long enough to help the others break free of your lies, but you're fun to play with." Roman stalks ever closer and Janus fights to swallow his riding panic. It won't do any good to let himself succumb to panic. "What do you say, snake? Want to play with me?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


"That's not Janus," Virgil says, shaking his head. "It can't be. I know him! _We_ know him!" He gestures to the room at large.

Patton exhales sharply, and Remus carefully wraps his arms around the fatherly side. Patton leans into it, suddenly seeming all at once much older and much more fragile in Virgil's eyes. "But if that's not Janus, then who is it?"

Remus opens his mouth, grimaces, then closes it, but the motion doesn't go unnoticed by Virgil.

"Do you know something?" Virgil directs the question at Remus, attempting to make eye contact. Remus looks up, stiffens, and immediately glances away. "Remus. If you know something, _anything,_ it could be important," he presses more firmly than he meant to.

Remus nods then swallows thickly. He seems… scared, and that doesn't help Virgil's feeling of "on edge" that's endured since Patton had burst in ten minutes ago. "When Roman and I were kids—after the split, I mean—Roman… well, he…" He lets out a haggard breath, and Patton gives his wrist a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"He always had a talent for, well… _disguises,"_ Remus says bitterly. “There isn’t any other word for it. Shapeshifting, maybe.”

“Sort of like how Janus used to pretend to be other sides?” asks Patton, and, as Remus nods, Virgil understands the implication.

“So…” He struggles to wrap his mind around _why._ “Even if he could do that, why would he?” He looks to Patton, the only one of the three who was there when Roman finally snapped.

“I might be totally wrong, but…” Patton bites his lip. “He really seemed to think that Janus was the 'bad guy.' Could it be possible that…?”

It could; in fact, as much as Virgil hates to admit it, it makes _sense._ He gets to his feet. “I’m going to find Logan.”

Patton stands too, a little off-kilter, and he leans against Remus until he can catch his balance. “I’m going too.”

Virgil glances at Remus, who shrugs. “Maybe it’s better if we stick together. Just in case.”

Virgil opens the door, wordlessly gesturing the other two out into the hall.

Not only does the Mindscape feel _badbadbad,_ but it also seems darker too, the shadows moving slightly as if alive, and Virgil curls his fingers into fists, nails digging into his palm and leaving little crescents of blood. He barely pauses in front of Janus’ door, thinking better of trying the knob. It would probably be locked, but even so, if Roman’s inside…

He stops short as Logan steps out of his room into the hallway. His expression is worried, eyes narrowed. “Do you sense it too?” His voice is unnaturally hushed ~~(Logan never whispers).~~

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Never,” spits Janus, and his neck snaps to the side as Roman’s fist meets his face. Janus turns his head slowly back to the center, watching Roman with disdain.

He can taste blood. How can Roman overpower him in his own room to the point that he can’t even heal? It shouldn’t be possible. Each side is strongest in his own room—or he _should_ be.

“Don’t talk back,” says Roman, smiling in a way that borders on a grimace, and it sounds like his teeth are gritted. Janus has a pang of satisfaction in Roman’s poorly veiled frustration. For an actor, he sure is subpar at masking his emotions.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“There is one hypothesis I would like to test,” murmurs Logan once he’s been filled in with as much as they think they know. He strides over to the white door, and Virgil’s heart is beating a mile a minute.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, but Logan pays him no heed, instead placing a hand on the door handle.

He turns it.

The door swings open. Patton gasps.

Roman’s room is empty and dark, but it’s much worse than that. Virgil takes a hesitant step closer, surveying the room. He takes in the cobwebs spanning the spaces between every surface and the cracks in the walls, wide and long and _black,_ the kind of darkness that’s not only a lack of light but also a lack of _life._ The kind of darkness that saps away at your very being. He shudders.

“Interesting,” Logan muses. “There is a space on the desk not covered in dust.” Almost every surface is coated in at least the thinnest layer of dust, but as Virgil inspects the desk, he realizes Logan is right. “There’s nothing else here worth examining.” But as Logan turns, Virgil spots a slip of paper on the floor beside the wicker trash basket. He darts forward to grab it, ignoring Patton’s cry of, “Virgil!”

The paper holds Roman’s handwriting, but it’s in a far less neat script than Virgil remembers. Indeed, it appears scrawled, as though Roman was in a hurry.

There are three words, just three, but as he reads them, Virgil feels a chill of fear run down his spine.

_Kill the liar._

And as his vision goes black, Virgil remembers nothing more.


	10. recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: panic attack

Virgil comes to slowly. He opens his eyes. His head pounds. His vision is blurred, but he can barely make out the shapes of what could be two people, one on either side of him. It’s like he’s looking at the world through a broken kaleidoscope—all he can see are colors, but not the things the colors _belong_ to.

“He’s awake,” says the pointed voice of Logan to his right.

“Oh, thank goodness!” cries Patton from his left. “Virgil?”

He blinks. Why won’t his eyes focus? “I can’t… everything’s blurry,” he says, wincing. His voice is as hoarse as his throat is sore. “What happened?”

Someone strokes Virgil’s hair—is that Remus? Whoever it is laughs with a touch of hysteria. “I don’t _believe_ you.” It _is_ Remus, judging by his voice.

Virgil’s vision slowly, painstakingly slowly, clears. Patton and Logan come into focus from the vaguely person-shaped colors on his left and right sides respectively. His head must be in Remus’ lap—when he looks up, Remus’ face is there but upside down in his vision—but Remus’ thighs are a good pillow. Judging by the slime-green color of the walls, they’re in Remus’ room, but unlike last time, it’s devoid of any frogs or their secretions.

Virgil smiles weakly as his eyes meet Logan’s and then Patton’s in an attempt to reassure them that he’s fine—he _thinks_ —and they both seem relieved. “Seriously, what happened? Did I just black out?”

Remus’ hand pauses in Virgil’s hair. “Roman’s room is damaged. It’s dangerous for anyone to be in there.” But _Roman’s_ been in there for _weeks._ “The, uh, the darkness. Got you,” he says bluntly.

“What?” Virgil, feeling a little better now, tries to sit up, only for his headache to return in full swing. His head feels like it’s splitting open. He groans, dropping his head back into Remus’ lap.

“There were these— these— _tendril_ things, and they came out of the cracks in the walls.” Patton gesticulates wildly. “One of ‘em came up behind you, and _wham!”_ Patton slams the palm of his hand into the ground with a sound loud enough to startle Virgil. He winces.

“It wrapped around your head, obscuring your vision.” Virgil doesn’t like the way Logan is looking at him, as though he’s a science experiment gone awry. “The end of the tendril entered your ear, and you passed out.” Virgil shudders at the thought of some tendril thing made of living darkness trying to get _inside_ him. “Remus attempted to fight off the tendrils wrapped around your legs with his morning star, and Patton and I used that distraction to pull the tendril off your head.”

Actually, now that he thinks about it, Remus’ frilly sleeves do look rather frazzled. Patton’s cheek is bruised an ugly color, and Logan’s fingertips look red and scraped. “Thanks,” he says, knowing that he can never truly thank them for everything they do for him every day.

“It’s… not nearly that simple, though,” Remus says, and Patton starts to protest. “He deserves to know. If he freaks out, he has the _right_ to.” With an overly fancy twirl of his wrist, he produces a hand mirror out of nothing and presents it to Virgil.

His eyes—oh god, fuck—his _eyes,_ the sclera of his left eye and the veins of his right eye are pitch black. Virgil’s face is deathly pale, even more so than usual, and he knows it’s not just makeup this time ~~(he looks like a ghost)~~. “Oh, shit, what the _fuck_ , I—” Virgil’s vision swims, and his head _hurts,_ and he isn’t breathing, _why_ isn’t he _breathing_ —

Faintly he hears Logan’s voice as if he’s very far away. It sounds like he’s underwater. He tries to focus on the sound, on the words.

“—gil? Can you hear me?” He nods, a very small motion, and he can barely manage to do even that. “I need you to focus, alright? I’m going to count 4, 7, 8. Do you think you can try to get your breathing under control?” Another nod. He listens to Logan’s voice, and he breathes with the count, and after a few minutes he can see again.

He smiles faintly. Patton’s holding one of Virgil’s hands, and Remus smooths Virgil’s hair back off his forehead. He appreciates the grounding touches, but at present he can’t bring himself to tell them that. He takes a deep breath instead. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Strangely, almost out of character for him, Patton doesn’t admonish his use of “foul language.” He must really be worrying about Virgil, which makes Virgil feel inexplicably guilty.

Logan speaks up. “Unsure. I do have a _few_ ideas.”

“Well, what are they?” demands Virgil. If something’s wrong with him, he thinks he should be the one to know.

Logan purses his lips. “I haven’t the faintest clue if any of my theories are _correct,_ Virgil. I’d prefer to observe you for a little while instead of jumping to conclusions and panicking over nothing.”

“Okay, fine, that… makes sense,” relents Virgil. He leans into Remus’ hand. His headache isn’t gone—it’s definitely still there—but it’s like he’s learned to block it out somewhat. The dull thumping is reminiscent of someone having left the radio on in a distant room of a house, but it’s too far away to hear the melody, and instead all you get is the bass line.

“You won’t abandon me because I’m corrupted now or whatever, right?” asks Virgil, eyes closed. He doesn’t have the energy. He pretends he isn’t anxious about the answer and that he couldn’t care less. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Speaking of the truth, he misses Jay. _Janus._

“Of _course_ not,” Patton says softly, as though the very concept is unthinkable.

“At the current moment, you seem to hold no threat to any of us, so I see no reason not to keep you around.” Patton shoves his elbow into Logan’s side. “Ow. Okay, we… _care_ about you or whatever.” He glares at Patton, but he’s clearly not that mad. It kind of reminds Virgil of a tsundere.

“And what about you, boyfriend of the year?” mutters Virgil, pulling Remus’ head down so that their foreheads touch. “What do you think? Can you stand to keep me around?”

Remus laughs, a tired yet genuine sound not unlike music to Virgil’s ears. “Yeah, fine, you can stick around, but it’s on _you_ if a magic darkness tentacle comes out of your mouth while we’re snogging.” Virgil smiles unconvincingly. “Okay, that joke was in poor taste, but come here.” He helps Virgil sit up. “Listen, you’re my boyfriend, and I’m not abandoning you just because you may be _slightly_ possessed. Demons are hot, by the way, so if anything you’re even more attractive.” He wiggles his eyebrows, but then his expression turns serious and a little solemn. “I sacrificed my morning star for you.”

“Can’t you just make a new one?” Virgil isn’t sure how summoning things works for the creative sides.

“It shattered,” says Remus mournfully. “I _could_ summon a new one, but it wouldn’t be the same. Besides, it bought the necessary time for Patton and Logan to rescue you.”

Virgil rests his head against Remus’ shoulder. “I love you,” he breathes.

Remus is staring at Virgil when he lifts his head. “What?” Virgil asks, suddenly defensive.

“You, uh… said you love me.” Remus’ face is the most open Virgil has ever seen it, if a little shocked, his eyes especially vulnerable.

“Yeah,” mutters Virgil. “I did. I _do._ You may be a trash gremlin with the absolute most atrocious sense of humor, but I love you, Remus.”

Is Remus fighting back tears? “I love you too.” Virgil doesn’t have time to check before Remus kisses him again— _finally_ —and he wraps his arms around Remus.

When they break apart, Logan and Patton have moved slightly further away and are pretending to talk so as to give them a little privacy. He laughs as Patton and Logan look anywhere but each other.

“What are we going to do?” Virgil asks the room at large. Whatever they do next, it seems so daunting. For one, Janus is presumably incapacitated, or he would have come looking for them by now. He would’ve sensed something was wrong. It’s possible Roman has him trapped. And Roman… well, if Remus and Patton are correct, then Roman is out of control and needs to be stopped.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Alone in the darkness, Janus whimpers. His friends won’t be prepared for what Roman has planned next, and someone’s going to get hurt.


	11. reminiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got longer than I meant for it to be, but this is a standalone chapter so it really wouldn't be right to split it into multiple. oh well
> 
> surprise! a double length chapter! backstory!

Janus exhales heavily. There is nothing he can do for his friends right now except to _wait,_ no matter how long that may take. Because he can’t be of any help, there’s no point in worrying about it, as much as he wants to worry. He just hopes Logan will come out the other side victorious.

What else can he occupy his mind with?

There’s always the past. It can’t hurt to reminisce.

Once, a long time ago, the sides all coexisted, _peacefully._ There was none of this “Dark” side and “Light” side bull. And that didn’t mean that they never had petty arguments, but whenever someone got mad, they’d be over whatever it was by the next day.

Sometimes Janus misses those times, but he knows they can never go back, not really.

Because then came the Split.

It had occurred after the first real fight. Atreus— _King_ —had been so torn and unsure whose side he ought to be on that he’d just… fractured into two parts.

Every side had been there. They’d all seen it, and it _scared_ them deeply, to their very cores. Nothing like that had ever happened before—Thomas was only sixteen, far too young to have to deal with something like that—and it had been Patton who vowed to never let it happen again.

Patton had decided that they had to divide into groups, and that way, the sides most likely to fight would be separated. _And they’d never have another side so tormented by his own thoughts that it tore him in two._

Janus—who didn’t even have a name yet, he was simply _Deceit_ —had been forced into the other group. (Patton hadn’t outright said that the sides in the other group were the sides he deemed as “bad,” but it had been all too clear to Deceit what the two categories were.) Patton had claimed one half of Creativity, the one wearing red, the “fanciful” one, under his wing, shunning the one in green to the side, and Deceit had known that Patton didn’t know the full extent of what he was truly doing in separating them—nor its effect on Thomas. In a split-second decision, he’d promised himself that if Patton wasn’t going to take care of the green Creativity and Anxiety (who’d just been “Fear” then, his purpose wasn’t fully formed), _he_ would.

The two halves of Creativity were, developmentally, much younger than Thomas’ other sides. In the Split, they’d each halved in age, and so they were just _children,_ children who’d never been apart before, children that Patton had decided to separate. Deceit had felt an immediate sense of protectiveness over the Duke, which was what the kid had been called before he’d gotten a name. Fear was slightly younger developmentally than Deceit, and he looked about nine or ten in human years. There wasn’t a single thing that the boy wasn’t scared of, and again Deceit couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself.

Carefully, he’d crafted their own version of the Mindscape, one that Patton couldn’t throw them out of because Patton couldn’t enter. A new Home, just for the three of them.

Looking back, Janus supposes that they’d been sixteen and foolish, and Patton had done what he’d _thought_ had been best, so maybe he hadn’t been entirely at fault. It hadn’t been fair to blame him so completely, but Deceit used to be very angry constantly and hadn’t known any better. He’d been frustrated with Patton and irritated that Patton couldn’t see what he’d done wrong when the evidence had been right in front of him. Janus is glad he was able to let go of his anger. It’s exhausting to let rage control you all the time.

Deceit had become unsatisfied with calling the two boys “Fear” and “Duke.” It didn’t _feel_ right. Thomas just hadn’t gotten around to assigning them names yet, he tried to convince himself, but he was fed up, and deep down he knew it wouldn’t happen. He decided to take matters into his own hands.

Deceit had suggested to Fear and the Duke that they should come up with their own names, phrasing it like it was a game. After all, mentally they were children, and children like games.

He’d already had a name in mind, but he did a little research before definitively choosing it. Deceit couldn’t come up with a better name than the one he’d already picked, so he became _Janus._

Janus had heard in passing that the other Creativity, the Prince (the _“good”_ one), had received the name Roman. Duke didn’t have a name, and that had been the first time that Janus had realized that being a “Light” side meant _preferential treatment_ and first priority over his own family.

Janus quickly conducted some online research into the name _Roman,_ hoping for some insight into Duke, and in a stroke of dumb luck he’d stumbled upon the story of Remus and Romulus. The two in the story had been brothers, twins as well, and the more he’d thought about it, the more perfect it had seemed for Duke. It even matched the end of his own name. When Janus had suggested the name to Duke, the boy had smiled up at him with a gap-toothed grin that made Janus feel warm inside. From then on, he’d been _Remus._

Helping Fear choose a name had been infinitely more difficult. The boy was incredibly picky, and while that made sense to some extent—whatever he picked would become his name, and names hold great importance—Janus wasn’t without frustration that Fear had turned down all of his suggestions.

It turned out that Fear had a passion for poetry, which Janus had learned one day when presented with a poem written for him. Janus took to the internet, not expecting this to go anywhere, but one name had caught his eye. He’d written it down and gone to find Fear, hoping very hard that this wouldn’t be like every other time.

Fear had stared at the paper Janus had presented him with. He was unsure, but that was better than him outright shooting it down like he’d done with every other one of Janus’ numerous suggestions. He’d sounded out the name slowly, then spelled it out. He wrote it once in the messy handwriting of a child, and stared at that too. Finally, he’d said, “I’m Virgil.” And he’d smiled a little. That was something that Janus had never seen, and he couldn’t help himself. He smiled too. And Fear was now Virgil.

Janus had made his wards promise not to, under _any_ circumstances, tell the so-called “Light” sides their names. In Janus’ mind, they didn’t deserve to know, not after Patton had forced them out.

Remus grew quickly, and soon he’d surpassed Virgil, who grew a little more slowly but still faster than the sides Thomas had from an early age, since they needed to catch up. Remus took great pride in the hairs starting to grow on his upper lip, a thing neither Janus nor Virgil were sure they liked, precisely, but they tolerated it since Remus was so excited about the prospect of a mustache.

Every day, Remus had grown more and more restless. He broke things with a bat for fun, and Janus was tired of cleaning up shards of glass. He never yelled, though sometimes he snapped at Remus. Whenever Janus did snap at him, he always pulled the younger teen in a for a hug. Even in Janus’ exasperated frustration, Remus was _family,_ and Janus couldn’t let family stay mad at each other.

_After all,_ distrust _was what had led to the separation in the first place._

One day when Thomas was eighteen, Remus had first summoned his morning star. He’d bounded out of his room, ecstatic to show Janus, who’d, understandably, been a bit nervous—Remus had caused enough damage with a wooden baseball bat, so how much trouble could he get into with an actual weapon? He made Remus promise not to use it in the house.

Remus had carried his newly-summoned morning star everywhere _._ He dragged it along behind him to breakfast, he’d even hug it to sleep (somehow, miraculously, this had never led to him sustaining injuries from rubbing his face against any of the spikes, and Janus suspects that perhaps the weapon _can’t_ be used to hurt Remus). Not long after the discovery of his weapon, he’d found his way into the Imagination for the first time.

Remus was amazed by the thought of a place where his every wish would be answered, and at some point while in the Imagination, he’d stumbled upon Roman.

Patton had come to knock on Janus’ door, angry, and told him that the Duke had _attacked_ Roman and that Deceit should control him better.

Janus still hates the implication that he was supposed to “control” Remus. He’s his own side, and while Janus could have talked to him and politely requested that he not attack his brother, it still wouldn’t have been anywhere close to “controlling” him.

The Janus of the past did _not_ make any attempt to dissuade Remus. The Imagination is as much Remus’ realm as it is Roman’s. They can do whatever they want in there, it’s none of his business. It’s not like Remus could ever permanently hurt Roman anyway.

Over the years, Janus had gotten used to it just being the three of them. Remus frequently disappeared on “quests” in the Imagination, and Janus used that time to bond more with Virgil. Remus and Virgil had both caught up developmentally (and physically) to Janus. Virgil had come into his purpose as Anxiety. Remus had been able to grow a proper mustache, which he’d, unfortunately, flaunted at every opportunity. He seemed to think it made him more attractive.

Janus hadn’t been aware of it the first time Virgil had shown up in person to “torment” Thomas (as Virgil called it). He’d only found out about it after the fact, and it made him nervous for Virgil’s safety and wellbeing.

(Janus had been able to make the other sides and even Thomas forget about the three of them to an extent in an attempt to protect them, but there was only so much he could do if Virgil started regularly appearing to Thomas.)

Virgil had tried to keep his appearances sparse, but in 2016 he’d given up the pretense and trying to hide, and Thomas had started to see him often. Janus tried not to pick at his nails or bite his lip while he waited for Virgil to return.

Their first argument had broken Janus a little. Virgil had made an offhand comment about the “Lights” not being so bad compared to the way Janus had always talked about them, and Janus had incredulously questioned how Virgil had come to that conclusion—Patton was judgemental and cold toward their kind, had Virgil forgotten? And Virgil had thrown his hands up, because he doesn’t remember much of before, but maybe Patton’s changed or something, because out of all the “Lights,” he’s actually the _kindest_ to him. Janus had accused Patton of being skilled at _pretending,_ and Virgil had stormed off to his room.

They hadn’t gotten over it by the next day.

Remus had been oblivious at first to the tension between them, and while he may be blunt, he’s never been _stupid._ He’d eventually asked why he was the only one during every meal attempting to start a conversation, but Virgil had leapt to his feet and blurted that Janus couldn’t see past his own lies, and Janus had actually _growled_ at him—an instinctual response. He may be _Deceit,_ but he’s not a _liar,_ and Virgil had crossed a line.

Janus had watched helplessly as Virgil had grown more and more distant and had started to trust Patton more than him. He’d attempted to apologize— _he never wanted this to happen_ —but Virgil had refused to listen over and over.

The last straw had been when Janus had let slip, “What, are you trying to become a Light side now?” and Virgil had snarled, “What if I am? Does that make me a traitor? Would I be your enemy? Because you’re not my _father,_ or even my older _brother_ , and we sure as hell aren’t _family!”_ The expression on his face terrified Janus.

And then he’d ducked out.

Janus had known he’d fucked up—he’d sobbed apologies into Remus’ shoulder enough times to know that—but there hadn’t been anything he could do.

Sort of like now, how Janus can’t move.

He’s infinitely grateful that Virgil wanted to give him a second chance. He didn’t have to seek Janus out or apologize to him, but he did. And they may not be back to normal—whatever their normal _is_ now—but Virgil talks to Janus again, and just that is enough to give Janus a lump in his throat.

And then there’s Patton, who’d learned the error of his ways long ago. By the time Virgil had started making regular appearances, he actually _had_ been trying. He’d been genuinely nice to Virgil in an attempt to make up for what he’d done, which Janus hadn’t learned until later.

Janus stops to recall the fight that had led to Patton deciding he was one of the “bad” sides and had to go. Before the argument that had caused the Split, they’d been _close._ Not in love—not like now—but a pair. A dynamic duo. If you’d called for one of them, the other would either come with them or pop up several minutes later.

Janus doesn’t remember what _exactly_ Patton had said, but it had been about the Duke and it had rubbed Deceit the wrong way. He’d made a _civil_ retort, and Patton hadn’t taken kindly to it. What had been a simple conversation between two close friends had escalated with no warning into a full-blown verbal altercation. They’d both said things they’d later regret, and Patton had screamed that maybe Deceit ought to go as well. His face had been instantly regretful, and he’d tried to take it back, but Deceit, too jaded and angry to see that, had replied curtly that maybe he _would._ That had been it.

But Patton _had_ changed. Virgil had been right when he’d yelled that across the room at Janus. And perhaps Janus was too quick to trust him again, but maybe he’d secretly been waiting all these years for the chance to.

For the chance to come back home.

Janus had missed Patton after he’d been evicted, despite all his anger—or maybe that had been part of what had _caused_ his anger in the first place? Besides the resentment and betrayal? He’d never considered that—and he misses Patton now. Will he ever get the chance to tell Patton how he feels, or was he too slow? Did he wait too long?

_Patton, you’d better stay safe._

_Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i changed some things and added a few sentences here and there in the first couple of chapters because I feel like it makes more sense now. you're not obligated to reread it, since this fic is already over 10K words smh, but I think it would be cool if you did.


	12. unfortunate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize, it's been a little while. on the bright side, school is out for me for the summer. i was also—gasp!—WORKING on my WIPs?? ME, being productive?? practically unheard of.
> 
> trigger warnings: zalgo or "glitchy" text (in case that bothers your eyes, tread carefully), brief mention of bile  
> (please tell me if i need to add a warning for something else)

Logan and Remus are talking quietly on the other side of the room when Virgil sits up with no warning.

“Acorn!” he yells, and poor Patton jumps.

“Excuse me?” inquires Logan, one eyebrow raised.

“My frog. I left him in my room. I hope he’s okay, but I can’t _leave_ him there.” Virgil struggles to get up. He pushes away Patton’s hands as he attempts to help, but as Virgil tries to stand, he makes a strangled sound and clutches at his left eye. He doubles over.

“Virgil?” Patton says, face scared.

“M… my eye…” His head pounds again, and he’s no longer able to block it out, but on top of that, there’s a sharp pain that jabs at the back of his eye, persistent and excruciating.

After a minute, the pain has subsided. Virgil pulls his hand away from his face, eye still closed, and, to his utmost horror, there’s some kind of black tar on his hand that’s awfully reminiscent of the exact shade of black of his sclera. He glances at Logan and then at Remus, hand tilted down so they can see why he’s so frightened. He can feel himself starting to cry, and he rubs at his open eye, only to find that even his tears are black. “Oh, oh _god,_ what…?”

“Virgil.” Virgil forces himself to look at Logan. “I promise you I’ll figure out what’s happening to you. It might take me a little longer, but I will figure it out.” He rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get Acorn for you. It would be unwise for you as you are now to leave this room. I will be back soon.”

The hallway is empty when Logan steps out of Remus’ room, to his relief. He strides across the hall to Virgil’s door.

There’s a tank on the far side of the room, situated on a table against the wall, but as Logan draws closer, he sees that it’s empty. “Acorn?” he calls softly—this is silly, would a frog really respond to its name?—searching the room with his eyes. There’s a very quiet croaking sound, and Logan traces it back to Virgil’s bed. He’d rather not do this, but he gets on his hands and knees, and, sure enough, underneath the bed is a small brown frog.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He can’t quite reach. The frog stares at him. “Virgil’s worried about you.” The frog—wasn’t his name Acorn?—takes a small hop closer to Logan. _Yes, that’s it._ Can he… understand what Logan’s saying? “I came here to get you and bring you to him.” Another hop closer. He holds his breath until Acorn is sitting in the palm of his hand, then carefully wriggles back out from underneath the bed. He adjusts his shirt, which was riding up, tucking it back into his waistband.

He stares back at Acorn. “I… suppose I can see the appeal. Your large eyes create an illusion of innocence, which could contribute to you appearing to most people in a way that could be described as… adorable.”

Logan exits Virgil’s room with no trouble, closing the door with a quiet _click._

There’s Remus’ door. He hurries to get inside. The longer he’s away from the other sides and alone out in the open, the more exposed he is.

_Wait._ No.

This isn’t right. He was just over there, but he's back in front of Virgil's door. He remembers walking to Remus’ door.

~~The shadows are hungry.~~

Logan walks to Remus’ door. Again, he's back where he started. _Stay calm, Logan. This may be an illogical situation, but it isn’t one you can’t handle._

It’s too dark. This is all wrong.

He can't see the end of the hallway or the place where the stairs are supposed to be. The shadows are too thick, and they move. He knows that after what happened with Virgil it's not just a trick of the mind. He wishes he could summon a weapon like Remus' morning star or Roman's sword, but he's not a Creativity side and he isn't in the Imagination, so he can't freely summon things at will. Instead, he subconsciously pulls Acorn closer to his chest in his cupped hands.

Logan’s eyes dart from side to side in an attempt to keep his gaze on as much of the shadows as he can. What next? If going forward isn’t an option… try going the other way.

When he walks far enough in the other direction, he’s right back where he started. Again.

Well, if Logan can’t reach the others, he should at least go back to Virgil’s room—maybe he’ll be safe there.

~~_If something happens to him, will they even know?_ ~~

The door is locked. _Impossible._ It had swung open with ease before, and Logan doesn’t _think_ he’d locked it when he left.

_Had he?_

The shadows swarm nearer.

Logan tries the door handle again. Pulls so hard it rattles the door on its hinges. _Please._

He can feel them—no, _it._

**T̸h̷e̶ ̸D̸a̵r̴k̸n̵e̵s̸s̶.̷**

It’s calling to him, and Logan can’t let himself answer.

The door handle still doesn’t turn. Logan takes a closer look, and the gray door is beginning to crack. Not the kind of cracks that come from damaged wood. Not _those_ cracks. No, these are the cracks that cover Roman’s walls. They’re lengthening and deepening even as he watches, and as Logan observes (one hand on the door), one of the cracks touches his hand.

He jerks back as if he’s been burned— _**y̵̹͙̑e̴͖͑͑s̴͕͇̽͝,̶̩͆̈** no, **c̶̩̒̋o̴̝̣͠m̵̙̌ë̶̤̠́ ̸̢̀t̷̪̞͝o̸̡͖͒̕ ̸̹̇m̷̬̈ḛ̸̩̌,̴̢͇̑** I refuse, **j̵͔͑͋ŏ̴̱̑i̷̳̖̐n̴̝̭͒ ̸̢̑͛m̴͕̱̀͂e̷̥͝,̵̺̿** get out of my head _—

What can he do? What is he _supposed_ to do?

Logan turns to face the hallway, his heart figuratively beating in his throat.

Something flickers in front of him, appears on the ground—an enormous yellow snake. It opens its maw, sharp teeth menacing. Is it going to bite him?

The sound that comes from the snake is a hiss. Logan knows that, deep down. But he can understand the one word amidst the hissing.

**_Run._ **

The snake is gone.

Logan doesn’t need to be told twice. As panic starts to rise up in his throat—or is that bile—he takes off at a full sprint. Where is he going? _Away_ , just away, if he can escape, behind him the whispers from t̵h̸e̸ D̶͇̒a̴͚͒ͅr̶̢̈́k̶̮͆̃n̴̡͙̕ẽ̶̋ͅs̷̗̊̒s̴̹͋ g̴̠̙̉̏̉r̴̟̦̓̅ö̸͔́͐̕w̵̦̝̗̟͛̇̈́̈́ ̶̻̊̐͒͝l̷̯̜̙͐͗̓o̸̥̳̤̹̽̚͝ư̵̼̮̰̬̔͘ḏ̸̛̯̯̤̑͐e̸̻͚͛̓̈̓r̵̛͕̘̯͚̈͗͂ ̸̞̲̓̐̚ȁ̸̢̪̭͓ṉ̷̾̈́͑d̸̞̲̠͑̕͜͠ l̸̤̞͒̌̐̒͗̒͜ǫ̷͈̳̙͗̏̆̊̋ů̸̬̠̱̃d̶̖͓̜̞͐̑ȅ̸̡̼͆̀́̂ŗ̷͚͍̱͇̥̲̒—

And then Logan runs into something solid. _Someone._ Instinctively, he knows who it is, even before he lifts his head to look.

(At some point while fleeing, he’d dropped Acorn—maybe he’ll be safe, Logan hopes Acorn will be safer away from him.)

Logan finds himself staring into the face of Roman. His eyes are crazed, and his smile doesn’t seem quite right—it makes it appear almost as if his face is warped unnaturally, like melting candle wax.

_I’m sorry, Virgil. I promised you I’d figure it out, but I think perhaps I’m too late._

“I’ve been looking for you.” And there’s a sickening _crack_ and a blossom of pain as Roman brings the hilt of his sword up to hit Logan over the head with it. Then, nothing.


	13. f̴͙͇͂r̵̮͙̒ȋ̷͚̉g̴̮̾h̶̨͒t̷̳̍͌ë̶̢͙͘n̷̠̱̊͋i̷̗̎̒ǹ̵͈̙͠g̸͈̊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy i lost my chapter notes but then i found them, here's your chapter! I won't say anything more, go theorize
> 
> edit: my birthday is a week from today. gay birthday

Head pounding, Logan comes to. His attempts to move are fruitless. He’s tied to the wall, and the bonds don’t move even as he struggles, pulls with his entire body.

“He got you too,” someone says from Logan’s right. Janus— _ this _ is where he’s been?

And Logan remembers Roman—he whips his head around, is Roman here—

“Roman’s out right now,” Janus informs him. His tone is mostly without inflection, but Logan can’t help but notice the bitterness tinging the edges of his words. “And you can’t escape. Believe me, I’ve tried.” There’s an ugly bruise on Janus’ human side, the off-color purple coloring his entire cheek. “How’s Patton?”

Logan considers. “He’s doing alright. He’s been very worried about you.”

“Really?” Janus smiles to himself, and Logan reasons that this is probably the only good news he’s heard in days.

“I don't know if Roman told you, but he made Patton cry.” Logan won’t tell Janus that Patton tried to confess to him. While it might boost his morale, Patton should be the one to tell Janus, not Logan. “Patton couldn’t believe you’d said those things, he cares about your opinion. He knows it wasn’t you.”

They fall silent, but Logan recalls something—the snake.

“Janus?” Janus glances at him. “I don’t suppose you have a large yellow snake?”

Janus’ face lights up. “Ethel! I haven’t seen her in days. How is she?”

“I’m not sure, I didn’t get a good look.” Logan’s brows furrow. “I think she spoke to me. She appeared in the hallway for a moment and told me to run.”

“Huh. I didn’t know she could talk, but she  _ has _ always been incredibly smart,” Janus muses. “Sorry I couldn’t warn you that he was after you. He told me part of his plan while he was monologuing—has he always been this arrogant? He seems convinced that he’s right no matter what and can’t be stopped.”

“It’s alright,” Logan assures him. “I know it was impossible for you to do anything while you've been trapped this whole time. To answer your question, yes. Roman has always been like that.”

“Maybe Patton drew the short straw with him, then.” Janus laughs mirthlessly at what had been not quite a joke. Logan somehow finds it hard to believe that Remus as a child had been easier to manage than Roman, but doesn’t voice his thoughts.

“I’m back~” Roman rises up a few feet away, and Logan tenses. Now that Roman isn’t obscured by half-darkness, he can see just how bad a shape Roman is in.

Whatever the being in front of him is, it doesn’t feel like Roman.

Roman sneers at Janus, but when his eyes land on Logan, his gaze becomes strangely  _ soft. _ “Hello, mi amor.” He reaches out to stroke Logan’s cheek with his thumb, and Logan fights the urge to recoil. This version of Roman is deeply repulsive on an instinctual level—he can feel something within him struggling to get as far away from the not-Roman as possible—and nothing like the Roman he thought he knew, but it isn’t as though he can move much. “I think we’re going to have fun together.”

* * *

“He’s taking too long. I’m going after him.” Virgil jumps to his feet, but before he can move toward the door, something happens.

A long shape near the floor flickers in and out of view—what  _ is _ that? As he stares, fascinated because he’s never seen something like this before and yet terrified of whatever it might turn out to be, the shape solidifies.

Into a snake.

“Oh, it’s just Ethel.” Patton clutches at his chest with one hand, and if his physical response was anything like Virgil’s, his heart is racing too. Either way, he sounds as relieved as Virgil feels.

Sure enough, the shape on the floor is that of a large albino ball python recognizable as the one Janus has doted over for years, ever since Remus found her in the Imagination and brought her to Janus as a gift. Held in one of her thick yellow coils is a familiar brown frog.

“Acorn!” Virgil had been so worried—but, as he takes a step closer, Acorn takes a hop back. “C’mon, buddy, it’s just me, Virgil. You’re not… scared of me, are you?” His dismay darkens at the edges, curling and crumbling away as if scorched by fire, and with every step forward and every subsequent hop Acorn takes away from him, he can feel it dimming, blackening, turning into  **anger.** Every time he takes a step toward Acorn, Acorn takes an even bigger hop away, and when he’s at Remus’ feet, Remus scoops Acorn up into his hand. Acorn shakes as he huddles in Remus’ palm, and Remus stares at Virgil in a way he’s never seen before—he almost looks  _ frightened _ of Virgil, but that can’t be right. Remus has never been scared of Virgil before.

His head pounds. His jaw clenches. His hands ball into fists.

All he can see is red.

He doesn’t… understand.

He do **esn’t** **ǘ̶͖͙n̸̯̂d̴̹̱̐e̸̢͛r̴̰̮͆s̴̝͎̈́̊t̶̏͜à̶͙͘n̵͎͂d̵̦̥͑͗.**

There’s a light touch on his shoulder, and the **red** clears, his head clears. Patton is resting a hand on Virgil’s arm. He looks concerned. Virgil hadn’t meant to scare them, to scare  _ anyone _ , but as he opens his mouth, there’s a hiss from the snake.

Only—that sounds an awful lot like  _ words _ to Virgil, slurred syllables, not unlike an imitation of human speech. Once he focuses on the words, he can hear them clearly.

_ He took Logan. _

Could Ethel always speak? Virgil thinks he’d remember if Ethel could talk, but he’s not so sure about anything anymore.

“He?” Patton’s eyes widen. “Roman took Logan?”

“No! That’s it!” A fire burning in his eyes, Remus sets Acorn on his shoulder less than gently. “We can’t just let him pick us off one by one! I’m going after him.”

His shoulders slump as his morning star fails to materialize in his hands, and the fire in his eyes dims as he remembers.

_ Roman hasss Janusss and Logan. _ Ethel’s 's' sounds drag on in the form of a hiss.

Patton’s shoulders rise and he becomes alert. “Janus? How is he? Is he okay?”

_ He’sss fine.  For  now. Roman hasss hurt him. _

Patton’s eyes narrow.

“I know Roman’s our friend—”

“I don’t think _that’s_ our friend anymore, Patton—” cuts in Virgil.

“—but he’s gone too far!” Patton’s eyes glimmer with unshed tears, but he stands firm. “He kidnapped Janus and  _ hurt _ him, and now he’s going to do the same to Logan!” He tightens his jaw. “We need to do something!”

Virgil squares his shoulders, inhaling deeply. “What we  _ need _ is a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	14. the plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> youre not fucking ready for this

“Now, Logan.” Roman pauses. He sniffs the air.

_Something’s changed._

“You know what,” he says leisurely. “Change of plans. I have an errand to attend to, and I’ll be seeing you both later.” He cackles a little too gleefully. “I’m sure you understand. It looks as though my dear _brother_ has found his way into the Imagination. That will be his last mistake.” Logan, unable to speak due to the cloth stuffed in his mouth, glances helplessly at Janus—that horrible liar, what good would that do? It isn’t as if either of them can move, let alone help their incredibly delusional friends who’d let themselves be lulled to the wrong side. Roman had made sure of that.

There’s a moment of stillness and silence after Roman sinks out. Janus waits long enough to make sure Roman isn’t coming back before speaking.

“Logan, are you alright? That looks… uncomfortable.” Logan shakes his head—that’s the most he can move. Janus winces, but they both know there’s nothing he can do to lessen Logan’s discomfort nor to better their current situation.

_Creak._

Janus looks up in disbelief as the door to his room opens slowly. He can hardly believe it—who among their friends would be foolish enough to attempt a rescue mission? A familiar curly-haired head peeks around the edge of the door, but… _could_ it be? Can he dare to hope…?

Patton breaks into a tired smile when his eyes alight on Janus’ face, and he can’t stop himself from reciprocating it with his own.

“Hey.” Patton sounds breathless, and Janus almost starts crying right then at the sound of his voice, so many pent up feelings, he’s had so much time to _think_ before Logan got here… time to think about himself and Patton? _No, no, now’s not the time, wait until you’re all safe._

“You should free Logan first.” Janus nods in Logan’s direction, and Patton nods at Janus. He watches as Patton struggles with Logan’s bonds, tongue sticking out of his mouth— _adorable,_ he really can’t hold in these feelings much longer, _we have to get out of here first_. Patton tugs free the rag in Logan’s mouth and Logan inhales deeply.

“Thank you.” Janus has never seen Logan so defeated as he is now. The bonds finally slip free, and Logan falls into Patton’s arms. ~~Janus isn’t jealous, that would be stupid.~~

As soon as Logan is able to stand on his own, Patton gets to work on Janus’ bonds. Patton’s so close that, if Janus wasn’t tied up, he could just reach out touch him, and as soon as Janus is free, he knows he’s never letting Patton out of his sight again.

The bonds loosen, and Janus falls into Patton’s embrace. “Patton.” His voice is little more than a whisper, scratchy and hoarse from roughly a week of misuse, but filled with relief and love and above all _hope._ “I’ve done some thinking, and I, uh…” He can’t think with the warm way Patton’s blue eyes gaze at him.

He doesn’t get to finish.

Instead, Patton leans in, and their noses bump. They both giggle deliriously—they’re so, _so_ tired—before finding the right angle.

Janus is slightly mortified to admit that he’d chased Patton’s lips when they pulled away, but he glances at a bemused Logan and clears his throat. “Where are the others? Roman mentioned something about Remus and the Imagination.”

Patton’s eyes widen. “Oh, right! They’re the diversion, we’ve gotta go help! They’re gonna be no match for him. Remus doesn’t have a weapon anymore, and Virgil… is, well, Virgil.” That’s reasonable, although Janus has seen Remus more than hold his own against some of the most fearsome beats in the Imagination—but he’d had a weapon then.

“Lead the way.” Logan makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, and Patton obliges. The door to what had been Janus’ room but is now a reminder of his worst fears closes behind them with a soft yet ominous click.

Janus definitely isn’t thinking about Patton’s breath on his face or Patton’s button nose bumping his or Patton’s warm lips on his own chapped, dry ones. This is not the time.

They’re going to _fight._

* * *

“I still hate this idea,” growls Virgil. He and Remus wait near the large stone statue of Roman in the clearing by the village, and he doesn’t think he could be any tenser.

“It was _your_ idea.” Remus raises an eyebrow. Acorn is nestled inside his collar, possibly sleeping, and Virgil tries not to think about that. He doesn’t want a repeat of earlier.

_Whatever_ had happened.

“I know.” He rests his forehead against the cool stone base of the statue, closed eyelids leaving him in blissful darkness. He isn’t used to this, he doesn’t want this. He’s Anxiety, for fuck’s sake! He’s not a leader, and with every passing second, he finds himself missing the quiet stolen moments here and there amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life in the Mindscape more and more. The sooner all of this is over, the sooner he can go back to that.

But…

Can he ever _really_ go back?

Absently, he raises a hand to his closed eyelids.

There’s a hiss from Remus. “He’s here!” Virgil’s eyes snap open, and he rises to his feet.

_Guess it’s showtime._

Compared to his statue, Roman seems much taller, and Virgil isn’t sure if it’s just a trick of the mind. After all, the statue is life-size, or it’s _supposed_ to be—Virgil hasn’t forgotten all the times Roman’s bragged about it, nor that particular detail that had been mentioned each and every time. As Virgil tries to reconcile the being in front of him with the Roman he knows, he turns Plan A over and over in his head, drilling the details into his mind until he’s absolutely sure he can’t forget.

Virgil steps out from behind the statue, and despite his dramatic reveal, Roman looks unimpressed.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Remus?” Roman barely spares a glance at Virgil before going back to studying the statue in a way that seems almost suspicious. Suddenly Virgil isn’t so sure his plan will work, but he has to try.

He shakes his head, willing his limbs not to shake.

Roman sighs dramatically. While that action is far from unusual coming from Roman, it's a far cry from the one Virgil remembers.

"That's too _bad._ I know he's around here somewhere, but where?" He tilts his head.

Virgil hastens to speak. "Listen, Roman—"

"That's _Prince_ Roman to you."

_Plan A. Remember Plan A._ "Okay then, Prince Roman. I'm not like the others. You know me. I've always despised that snake." Virgil slips into the role with perhaps too much ease. All he has to do is recall the anger and the hurt that had nearly overwhelmed him the night before he’d ducked out. Thinking back, it's lucky that the worst thing he'd done was duck out.

After all, when one feels betrayed, no one to turn to, nothing to stop them, nothing to _lose,_ there's no telling what they'll do.

He swallows the memory of the pain he'd felt, forcing himself to push onward. "I'm on your side, I promise. I have insider information." Roman's eyes turn hungry at the mention of _information,_ and Virgil is certain the plan is working.

Until Roman's gaze shifts deliberately to the statue. Virgil had subconsciously placed himself squarely in front of it, as if in some attempt to protect Remus from whatever thing Roman had become, and only now does he become aware of how out of place his stance must look. "If you're not on _their_ side, then surely you wouldn't mind me peeking around this statue." He speaks slowly, almost languidly, as he approaches the statue.

Before Virgil knows what he's doing, he’s jumped in Roman’s way, and a cry of "No!" escapes his mouth.

Roman grins, a gesture that doesn't look quite right. Something about it puts Virgil on edge. It reminds him of a shark who's spotted its prey. "That's what I thought. You're far too sentimental, Virgil, and it shows."

Plan A is a bust, then, and as Roman begins to stalk towards him, Virgil hopes that Remus is about to initiate Plan B.

Sure enough, a figure appears behind Roman, a morning star gripped in his hands and aimed at Roman's head. Virgil doesn’t have time to muse over the sudden existence of Remus’ weapon, a thing he’d thought to be gone forever, before the morning star makes contact with a sick _thud—_

Nothing happens.

Remus' knuckles whiten on the handle. Roman turns.

"You thought that petty trick would work on me?" He throws his head back and laughs, a cruel sound, and what's left of Virgil's determination begins to crumble. Roman throws out his arm towards Remus. The gesture doesn't make contact, but it wasn't meant to.

Remus goes flying, back slamming into a tree, and Virgil cries out. Remus falls to the ground and doesn't get up.

Roman's attention is once more focused on Virgil, and the desperation rises up in his throat. What is he supposed to do now? Plan B relied almost entirely on Remus' involvement, and he's indisposed. Virgil never made a Plan C, didn't think he'd need one, clearly he’d underestimated Roman.

"What's your next move, Virgil?" Something in Roman's eyes glints. "Are you foolish enough to try to fight back against me? Or are you going to join me? Can't you see that he's brainwashed you all? He's the real villain. I'm just the hero! I'm doing my duty to save you."

"I don't know, your actions don't seem very heroic to me," Virgil spits, and Roman tenses, fists clenching.

The newly freed sides, as well as their savior, arrive just in time to see Virgil crumple to the ground. Patton’s hands leap up to cover his mouth ~~and to stifle his sob.~~

Roman _tsks,_ stepping over Virgil’s prone body as he nears them. “I see you’ve freed my… companions. Patton, I thought you knew better.”

“They were your _prisoners.”_ Despite the wobble in both his voice and his legs, Patton stands his ground.

Virgil’s words echo in his mind. _I don’t think_ that’s _our friend anymore, Patton._

Faced with the thing that calls itself Roman, Patton can very much see that for himself. The twisted expression on the familiar face, the way he holds his body like a cobra prepared to strike, it’s all wrong. Whatever had happened to him, that’s not the prince he calls his friend, and Patton can’t afford to call him Roman.

“Why did you hurt them?” he asks, shoulders squared. Janus was the only one physically hurt, but he’d seen the way Logan had fallen into his arms, felt Logan shiver against his chest, so to say that Logan had come out of that entirely _unharmed_ would be a blatant falsehood.

“Oh, Patton, you’re far too naive, my dear. You’re the one most under the hold of his lies.” The not-Roman’s eyes flick to Janus, who stands behind Patton, a venomous expression on his face. “I hurt him because he _deserves_ it.”

Logan moves behind Patton—he isn’t sure what Logan had tried to do, he hadn’t seen it, only heard the scuffle of his shoes on the dirt—and there’s a muffled cry just as suddenly cut off. Logan’s eyes fill with despair, even as he doesn’t move, and Patton realizes with a start that Logan _can’t_ move.

He whirls to glare at the not-Roman. “You froze him!”

“Not exactly,” the not-Roman purrs. “I simply made it so that he can’t move.” He laughs at the abject horror written across Patton’s face. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s not permanent. I can let him go any. Time. I want.”

He’s playing with them. This is all an elaborate game of cat and mouse. He’s the spider, and Patton and Janus are two flies stuck in his web to helplessly struggle, and all the while he creeps inevitably closer.

Patton lunges at the not-Roman, but the only effect his action has is that Patton winds up on the ground, coughing through the dirt in his eyes and his nose and his mouth. He can’t breathe, doesn’t have the energy to even lift his head off the ground, and the edges of what little he can see start to blacken as he runs low on oxygen.

There’s nothing he can do but watch as the not-Roman wraps a hand around Janus’ throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey my birthday is Thursday :D


	15. over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so far out of my comfort zone to write, but i hope you all enjoy
> 
> i hit 20K words with this chapter :') that's the most words i've ever written for one fanfiction before, wow.

**"̵̤̙̉S̷̝͉̐̎ẗ̸͕͈́ỏ̵̟̗p̸̲͍̔͝.̷̬͋ͅ"̷̻̅̿**

The voice that speaks is Virgil’s, and yet…

Underneath the sound of Virgil’s voice is another, darker, deeper, a sort of growl. It sends several quiet shivers down Roman's spine.

Roman watches with surprise as Virgil pulls himself to his feet. He was sure he’d knocked Virgil out. There’s no way he’d be able to get up so soon. It’s not possible.

But as Virgil straightens up, swaying slightly, Roman realizes that  _ Virgil _ didn’t get up at all.

Whatever entity currently has control over Virgil’s body isn’t the anxious side himself. Its eyes are dark and devoid of light, reminiscent of a black hole that would pull you in without remorse or a second chance. Its stance is uneven, shifting, alien,  _ other, _ and black tendrils curl around its hands.

“I see.” Disdainfully, Roman drops Janus to the ground, where he kneels, panting for air, eyes leaking tears as he clutches at his throat. Roman gestures accusingly at the not-Virgil. “You’re one of  **h̵̼̤͒i̶͈̬͝s̶̗̿ͅ** little puppets too.” The not-Virgil doesn’t answer, and Roman sighs. “I suppose I’ll have to weaken you as well. Can’t have someone fighting back against the hero, now, can we?”

He summons his sword, but before he can make a move to attack, one of the black tendrils wraps around the blade. He grits his teeth, struggling to keep a hold on the hilt. The tendrils are strong… stronger than  _ him? _ Impossible. Roman’s the strongest side now!  **H̵͔̑̄ę̸̉** had promised!

**H̸̲̠̎e̵̢̳̅** … had  _ lied? _

Despite Roman’s best efforts, the sword goes flying out of his hands and into the edge of the forest. He adjusts his crown with an ugly snarl.

Roman had expected the not-Virgil to show some sign of joy over its victory, but to his mild shock, the being hadn’t moved, face still cold and stone-like, hands curled into fists by its side. He shakes his head and readies himself. He doesn’t need a sword. He’s strong enough to do this with his bare hands.

He thrusts one arm out toward the not-Virgil, sending a gust of air strong enough to push the being back. The not-Virgil slides back only a foot before a wall of the black forms in front of him, shielding him from the wind.

Maybe this will be harder than Roman thought.

The wall dissipates into tendrils once more, and several of the tendrils race toward Roman. He throws out his arm each time to block, directing wind,  _ once, twice, thrice, _ but each time he finds himself slowing and each tendril is closer than the one before.

_ Alright, then. _ Time for a technique Roman hasn’t used in years.  _ Fighting fire with fire, _ as the saying goes. He should still know how to do this, and as he concentrates, his own tendrils begin to form. His are a bright red and reminiscent of mist, while the not-Virgil’s are dark, more like an  _ absence _ of anything than a thing itself, a solid sort of blackness.

Roman grins.

They both act at the same time. The black barely misses a collision with the red, but both hit their true target, and Roman stumbles back. Unbeknownst to him, he’d let go of the energy stopping Logan from moving the instant he’d been struck, and behind him, Logan scrambles to Janus’ and Patton’s aid.

The not-Virgil looks a little different now, and Roman frowns. What's changed?

His eye.

One of his eyes is completely black, but in the other eye Roman can see both white and brown. One brown iris is visible, black creeping into the white of the sclera. Virgil is partially cognizant again.

"Come on, Virgil. You know I'm right. Why don't you give up?"

Virgil's human eye fills with… pity? Is he  _ pitying _ Roman? He shakes his head, but doesn't speak, and Roman finds himself fighting off another wave of the darkness.

He's not quite prepared, and one tendril wraps itself around his ankle and  _ pulls _ and now he's on the ground and it's starting to tug him closer to Virgil. His eyes flick around, searching for something.

Virgil isn't expecting it when a red tendril comes from behind, folding around his chest and  _ squeezing, _ and he can't breathe. Roman uses the seconds he's bought while Virgil fights off the red tendril to pry the black one off his leg and stand.

Virgil drops to one knee, one hand on his chest as he tries to fill his lungs with oxygen, and he just  _ looks _ at Roman in a way Roman doesn't understand. Still, Roman can't afford to give him empathy.

He approaches Virgil at a slow, even pace until he's standing over Virgil, his long shadow cast by the sun as it arcs through the sky. He's not sure what he'll do to Virgil, but it won't be pretty.

"Roman!" The yell comes from behind Roman, and he grits his teeth— _ what is it this time _ —turning to see Logan, who's on his feet, brows furrowed. Strangely, the sight has the adverse effect on Roman that he would have expected—his shoulders slump in a discreet motion that only Virgil, directly behind him, can see, and the growl on his face slackens as he relaxes.

"I know this likely will do no good, considering you refused to believe it when anyone else told you, but Janus is not the villain.  _ You _ aren't the villain either." Logan sounds earnest. Roman tilts his head. "That doesn't make what you think you're doing the 'right' thing. Janus may have been less than candid in the past, but I assure you that he's making an honest attempt at change." Logan's eyes hold a challenge for Roman. "Are  _ you _ capable of change?"

Something about the question—the wording, perhaps, or maybe the tone?—makes Roman stop, really stop for a moment. But it isn't enough. His face darkens, and he turns back to Virgil to finish the job.

"I loved you!" Roman freezes, shock as clear as day on his face. He turns slowly. Logan is breathing hard—Roman can see that from where he stands—his eyes deploring, almost pleading, for Roman to listen.

"I really did, before all of this mess. I love you, Roman, but not…  _ you. _ Not this." Logan gestures to the entirety of Roman. "I liked you before you became this… revenge-hungry  _ monster. _ It's evident to me that I ought to have told you that a long time ago. While it's unlikely that much would have changed, it's certainly possible I'd have been able to help you sooner." Roman realizes with a start that Logan's crying softly, not because of everything Roman has done, but because of everything that he, Logan, hadn't done.

"Please." Logan's voice is little more than a whisper. "Come back."  _ Come back to us. Come back to  _ me.

The tendrils, red and black alike, disperse into the air, and Roman closes the gap between them in less steps than it should have taken. He holds Logan's face in his hands, and to his credit, Logan doesn't flinch. A fatigued smile flickers across Roman's face, and then he collapses. Logan catches Roman in his arms. He turns Roman over and shakes his head fondly. Roman’s eyes are closed. He's unconscious.

"Is it… over?" A feeble voice speaks from the edge of the trees, and Virgil lurches to his feet as Remus lifts his head. Despite his own poor condition, he hobbles to Remus' side, making a subpar attempt to help Remus to his feet before simply joining him on the ground in solidarity.

_ Is it over? _

Mere minutes ago, the sun had been setting in the Imagination, the landscape obscured in quickly lengthening shadows, but as soon as Roman had fallen, bright beams had begun to shine down on the scene, causing any traces of the despair that had webbed its way around the clearing to fade and disappear.

Logan surveys their little party. Although certainly bruised and battered, they're all alive, and they're all  _ alright. _ Ethel slithers out from behind the stone base of the statue, bumping her head against Janus' hand, and he laughs. Acorn hops across the dirt, and Virgil, whose eyes are void of any black except the normal black of his pupils, beams so brightly when the little frog joins him and Remus to lie on the ground with them.

It's over, and Logan lets out a long, slow exhale. He lowers himself and Roman to the ground, carefully setting Roman's head in his lap. His fingers card through Roman's brown hair, stopping only to remove that wretched crown. It’s a little tangled in Roman’s hair, and Logan’s nimble fingers work it loose. He stares at the cracked gem, considering the reminder of Roman’s—of  _ their _ —pain for a moment before hurling it with as much force as he can into the forest.  _ Good riddance. _

For now, they're okay. They're safe.

If only it had been over.  _ If only. _

Because the statue begins to move on its pedestal, the stone warping and rippling as Logan watches with horror.

The statue changes, and soon it doesn't much resemble Roman at all, save for the face.

The stone cracks as the figure stretches, chunks of marble flaking off to reveal color, a person underneath. His eyes are a bloody shade of orange, and Logan shudders—but the scleras, the  _ scleras _ of his eyes are black.

The alarm bells start ringing in Virgil's head, his fight-or-flight engages,  _ it can't be. _ But as the figure's eyes fix upon Virgil's, he smiles—if you can even call it that, it's wrong somehow, it's unnatural—and it makes the hairs on Virgil's arms stand on end, and he knows  _ it is. _

It's  **H̷͓͚͍̏̑͐i̴̧̫͓͗͊̎͜m̷̳̟͔̠̙͇̈́͂̓́̈́̕.**

The Orange side cracks his neck with a flourish. The resulting sound isn't a crack at all but rather a creak like an old wooden door, and it echoes around the clearing, far louder than it should be. "Hello. I see you've defeated both my champion  _ and _ my puppet." His voice is grating and painful to hear, and Virgil clutches at his head,  _ no, not again, I can't, please _ —

"Wrath," Janus spits, and Virgil turns his head just slightly. Janus' expression reminds Virgil of a cornered animal, and it scares him. "I thought you were gone for good."

_ Wrath. _

Every movement, every sound he produces is amplified, painful, and when Wrath laughs a terrifying cackle, Virgil sobs as the feeling of a thousand needles scrape the inside of his ears. "Go away…" he whimpers.

Wrath stares at him for what feels like several minutes, but not once does Virgil make eye contact with him, he  _ can't, _ even as Wrath takes careful, paced steps towards him. Every movement creaks.  _ Creak, creak, creak. _ "Oh, no, darling, I think I'm just beginning."

Standing in front of Virgil, he snaps his fingers—Virgil cries out in pain.

And now he's alone.

All alone.

In the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no more plot twists i promise this is the last one, altho i have been hinting at it a lil bit in advance ;)


	16. quest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant tell if this is shitty or not but heres self indulging creativitwins because ive never actually written them and its surprisingly therapeutic oh im fine yes i promise haha :')

It happens in a second.

One moment Remus is on the ground at the edge of the clearing, back aching from when Roman slammed him into a tree.

Then Wrath snaps his fingers.

Remus finds himself somewhere else. Tall hedges rise up on either side of where he lays. It seems to go on forever in both directions, as far as his eyes can strain to see, just bushes.

He’s alone now.

No, wait—what’s that?

Remus pulls himself to his feet, wishing he could brace himself against the thorny hedges; he’s still shaky when he stands. He stumbles slightly as he walks, but as he draws closer, the figure on the ground becomes clear.  _ Roman. _

How should he feel?

Roman is his brother. They’ve always had an antagonistic relationship. They frequently fight, but most of it is staged. Remus wants to try again, to rebuild their relationship and talk to Roman more. Roman could very well have been trying to kill Remus when he slammed him against that tree. Remus isn’t dead. Roman wasn’t in his right mind, he isn’t entirely to blame.

_ Roman is his brother. _

Remus lowers himself gingerly onto his knees, biting back a curse or two. Remus hesitates before making up his mind to run his fingers through Roman’s tangled hair.

Roman’s eyes snap open, but he doesn’t sit up like Remus expects. Remus, who’d been about to pull his arm away, pauses for a moment before his hand continues to cautiously card through Roman’s hair. Roman looks at Remus, but his expression is unreadable. Remus looks back with emotions that are surely equally as mixed.

After a long moment, Roman clears his throat. “Is… how are you feeling?” His voice is hoarse, and he almost sounds as fatigued as Remus feels.

“What?” In any other situation, Remus might accept that Roman could be worried about him, but this… is too much. Yes, Roman hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly earlier, but he’d still thrown Remus into a  _ tree. _

Roman closes his eyes. “I’m… sorry.” His voice shakes. “I… I didn’t mean to—  _ Rem…” _

To Remus’ equal shock and dismay, Roman sits up and starts crying.

They’ve never… done this sort of thing.

Open up to each other, that is.

And as much as Remus can say he wishes they’d talk more, he thought they’d ease into it, not…

He tugs at his hair. He wants to comfort Roman, to make it all better, but what can he really do? What is he supposed to do?

“Roman.” His voice comes out unexpectedly choked. “You’re… my brother, okay?” He pulls Roman into a stiff hug, and Roman goes limp in his arms. “No matter what shit you’ve done or what shit you’ll do in the future. Hopefully you’ll never do anything as bad as  _ all that _ again, but…” Roman laughs wetly, face buried in Remus’ shoulder, and he feels a pang of something. It’s like Remus has secretly been aching for this for a while now, but he’d know if he’d been missing Roman this much, right?

Right?

Still, even in this unfamiliar place, he feels  _ at home _ in his brother’s arms _. _

A cackle sounds, and Remus’ head snaps up.

There’s Wrath, sitting on the top of the hedge wall despite the many thorns. “Isn’t this so touching?”

A shudder runs down Remus’ spine as he recalls the abject horror and torment on Virgil’s face as soon as this Orange side had appeared. He doesn’t know what Wrath did to Virgil—whatever it is, it doesn’t affect him the same way—but it’s utterly repulsive, and he finds himself tightening his grip on his brother.

“Hello,  _ sweetheart.” _ Wrath wiggles his fingers at Roman, and Roman stiffens. “Well done.” He claps slowly. “You both made it out of my control after all. But are you sure I didn’t let you  _ go?” _

“Both?” questions Remus.

“Virgil,” mutters Roman, and Remus suddenly understands—the black eyes, the sudden extreme  **anger,** and Acorn’s fear of Virgil.

Wrath watches this little exchange, clearly unimpressed. “All that aside, I have a little proposition for you two. Listen carefully, I won’t repeat myself.

“You two must traverse this hedge maze. Along the way, you will find your friends. They are unharmed, for  **now.** At the center of the maze is Anxiety.

“You have 24 hours to find your friends, reach the center of the maze, and rescue him.”

Roman gulps. “And if we don’t?”

Wrath grins, his sharp teeth warping the edges of his smile. “Well, you saw before what me simply existing near him did to him, Duke. That was nothing, I could be so much worse.” He taps a nonexistent watch on his wrist, standing up on top of the hedge wall. “24 hours.” His voice floats on the air as he disappears.

Remus and Roman, leaning heavily on each other for support, pull themselves to their feet. They both start to speak at the same time.

“There’s something about him—”

“I swear he seems familiar—”

They stop. They look at each other and laugh. This has been the longest few weeks of their entire existences, and they’re both ready to take a week-long nap.

“You go first.” Remus nods.

“Okay.” Roman chews the inside of his mouth. “I didn’t think too deeply about it before, when he first… came to me, and convinced me to… but anyway, I swear I know him. When he says, ‘sweetheart,’ I…” Roman’s shoulders rise, and Remus wraps his arm more tightly around his brother.

“I feel the same way. The nickname doesn’t affect me as badly as it does you, but there’s a slight emotional reaction. Which emotion, I can’t say, but it’s definitely… there.” Remus glances around warily as the two start to move as one. He laughs weakly. “Guess this is our ultimate bonding experience, huh? Just two brothers in a hedge maze.” Roman elbows his side, but he’s smiling, and Remus swears he heard Roman laugh by way of a slight exhale, and even though they’re all in danger, he’s happier than he’s been in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man its sleep time  
> fucking finally


	17. 24 hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all i can say is "ow"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood, mild injuries, bruises, brief mention of bile

_They start moving at 8 pm._

The hedge walls stretch on for miles, and, as wounded and weakened as they both are, the brothers have to lean on one another in order to walk. The damage won’t be permanent, it never is, but it _will_ take a few days to heal.

They don’t have a few days.

Virgil’s in danger, and Remus can’t let Wrath hurt him.

Still, they can only hobble so fast together.

Every dead end, every wrong turn drives Remus further into his worry. They don’t have time to make mistakes, and they don’t seem to be making as much progress as they should be.

Roman shoots a sideways glance at his brother, whose breathing sounds far too labored, but says nothing. He can’t afford to waste his own breath.

They turn another corner—and stop.

There’s a body, there in the maze wall. He’s suspended by his arms and legs, which have been partially grown over by the hedge.

Janus.

Roman stiffens at the sight. Remus pulls away, almost running to the prone body trapped in the hedge. He stares helplessly at it, then glances back to Roman as if to say _help me._ Roman swallows back the guilt— _for now_ —and rushes to his side.

They’re not in the Imagination anymore.

They can’t be.

For as hard as they try, neither brother can influence the hedge or make it change in any way.

Janus is still stuck.

Thorns digging into his skin.

Remus growls. There has to be some way! They need to get him free. But… how?

Against his better judgment, he begins digging at the hedge, ripping it apart with his fingernails just as the hedge rips apart the skin on his fingers. He comes away bleeding, panting, even, but one of Janus’ arms is free.

Roman watches, shocked in a way that renders him immobile. Slowly, Remus tears his hands apart, and slowly, Remus tears the hedge off of Janus. Janus falls, and Remus catches him before he hits the ground. His eyes open, and Roman resolves himself for what is sure to come next.

Janus glances around slowly, dazedly, eyes not quite focused. He clings to Remus as if, the moment he lets go, he won’t be able to stand on his own.

His eyes lock on Roman’s, and he doesn’t look so disoriented anymore. His eyebrows furrow, but… he’s not _mad._ Roman can see a flurry of emotion behind those two-color eyes, all simultaneously fighting for control. _He knows how that feels._

“I’m sor—” He chokes on the words the instant they start to leave his mouth. He lets out a dizzy laugh, and suddenly the world is tilting, and he falls to his knees.

“I—” _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorryI_ —

“Roman.” Janus is standing over him. He half-grimaces but offers a hand that Roman takes all too willingly. He helps haul Roman to his feet, and now they’re locked in a staring contest, and Roman just feels _fear._

Janus brushes past him and their shoulders bump, and Roman startles.

Janus’ voice is a terse whisper. “We’ll talk about this later.” He stops. He looks around. “Where are the others? Where’s Patton?” He looks to Remus for an answer, of course, he’d have _no reason_ to trust Roman, not after what he did.

“Wrath hid them somewhere in the maze, like with you.” Remus shrugs, not bothering to conceal the resulting wince. “We have 24 hours.”

“Logan’s practically a clock, so he’s our best bet. Let’s go.” Janus starts to stride off, but halts—he doesn’t know which way they’ve already been. He falls back to let Remus take the lead, and Roman is stuck walking next to Janus in silence.

Once they’ve found one, they seem to find the others much quicker. It’s hard to estimate how much time has passed, but it feels like it can’t have been more than an hour from the time they find Janus to the time they stumble upon Patton.

Janus’ eyes take on a haunted appearance as soon as they alight on Patton, suspended in the bushes much like he himself had been, bright spots of red welling from the places where the thorns had pricked his skin. He stands still for only a moment before throwing himself toward Patton.

“How do I get him free?” His voice is panicked as he calls over his shoulder, but his eyes never leave the motionless form in front of him.

“I just kind of scrabbled at the branches, I…” Remus wishes he can be of more help.

Janus balls his fists. The twins watch, mouths gaping, as four more arms grow and emerge from his back—they’d forgotten he could do that. He doesn’t hesitate. His six arms rip into the hedge, and Patton is free. By the time Patton’s eyes have opened, Janus is cradling Patton with the typical number of arms a human should have.

“What… happened?” Patton blinks up at Janus, not quite sure of his surroundings.

“Wrath.” Despite his clearly conflicting emotions as he says the name, he keeps his voice soft and soothing, and his small smile is genuine as he strokes Patton’s hair. “He put us all in a maze and made Roman and Remus find us.” When Janus says Roman’s name, it’s carefully calm, and he almost would have preferred if Janus had let a hint of an emotion, _any_ emotion, slip through. “We’re on a time limit.”

Patton uses Janus to pull himself to his feet, squinting as he rubs at his temples. “I don’t see Logan and Virgil.”

“We— we haven’t found them yet.” The less attention Roman draws to himself for now, the better. Probably best to let things settle—and figure out his place—before attempting to interact with the people he’d hurt so very badly. Patton’s eyes shift to him, and they seem almost blank, a touch thoughtful.

“I… see. What are we waiting for?”

When they find Logan, Roman isn’t relieved. In fact, he’s far from it. There’s a gut reflex to vomit, and he heaves into his hand before he can get his body under control.

Logan’s suspended, trapped in the same way the other two were, but this is somehow much worse. Maybe it’s because Roman’s in love with him, or because Logan usually carries himself in that composed way.

Despite looking and dressing exactly like the man Roman fell in love with, his body is hardly recognizable. His glasses are askew, one lens sporting a jagged crack. His hair is messy, dark locks in a state of utter disorder. The same lines of blood run down his arms where the thorns had attacked him. But perhaps the most striking thing is, not the way his head lolls to the side, but the bruises smattering his face, as if he’d tried to fight back against Wrath—and _lost._

Roman’s aware of the strangled cry he’d just made, but he doesn’t care anymore if they witness him being vulnerable.

He’s done enough _hiding._

He looks to Janus, gaze beseeching—and Janus considers for a moment before repeating what he’d done to free Patton. After this, Roman could use a good cry, he thinks. It’s been… a lot.

When Logan regains consciousness, his eyes are the only ones that don’t hold poorly concealed resentment or pity. If anything, the way he looks at Roman is fond, if Roman would even go that far.

Logan gets to his feet. “Where’s Wrath? No, where’s _Virgil?”_ He seems fairly put together from the outside, but Roman can tell from the way Logan’s gripping his hand that something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Wrath hid all of you in a maze and made Remus and me go look for you,” Roman informs. “If we started at 8 pm yesterday, what time is it now?”

Logan takes a few deep breaths as he thinks. “Just after 5 pm. Why?”

_Shit._ “He gave us a twenty-four-hour deadline,” Remus says. “That gives us three hours to get to the center of the maze and save Virgil before…” He doesn’t know what Wrath is going to do to Virgil, actually, but… he doesn’t _want_ to know, and if they rescue Virgil, he’ll never have to know. “We don’t have time to waste.” He sets off at a fast-paced walk, eyes alight with something akin to desperation, and Roman exchanges a glance with Logan beside him. They all follow promptly.

It takes two hours to be able to tell where the middle of the maze is.

By the time they reach the center, it’s **7:46.**

Remus curses under his breath. He’d hoped that Virgil would be trapped in a similar way to the others, that he’d be as easy to free, but…

In the center of the clearing, there’s a large transparent bubble. In the center of the bubble is Virgil. His body slumps, even as he’s forced to stay upright, his eyes open but unseeing.

Remus lunges for the bubble, attacking it with everything he has, which, without a weapon, isn’t much.

**7:49.**

After several minutes of fruitless efforts on his part—the bubble is unbroken, Virgil doesn’t seem to know he’s there—he steps back, defeated. Roman cycles in to take his place. Still no effect.

**7:53.**

Janus takes a turn, even Patton, even Logan.

**7:56.**

Still nothing.

Again, Remus hurls himself against the stupid bubble, screaming and pounding against it until his fists bleed. **7:58.** His attempts slow, and he sinks down to the ground, forehead resting on the bubble, voice hoarse, tears streaming relentlessly from his eyes.

**8:00.**


	18. consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i ever mention this was slightly inspired by Shatter by rosegoldroman?

For a minute, nothing happens.

Then the screaming starts.

Virgil screams, and Remus covers his ears and screws his eyes closed. Normally he likes screaming, but this isn’t the fun kind. He likes the  _ fun _ kind.

The screams fade away to a quiet whimpering, and Virgil huddles on the floor of the bubble, arms wrapped protectively around himself. His eyes flick back and forth, but he still can't see.

"Stop," he mutters over and over.

Remus, still leaning against the bubble, shakes almost as much as Virgil. He’s utterly helpless, there’s  _ nothing _ he can do. After all this, after everything. They got Roman back, Janus and Patton finally realized their oblivious crushes are mutual, he and Roman have made a little progress and they might even be  _ healing. _

After all this.

Remus is exhausted. He’s of half a mind to just go to sleep right there, pass out on the spot, but it would be ill-advised at best and idiotic at worst. All he wants is for Virgil to be safe. For it all to be  _ over. _

It’s supposed to be over, why can’t it be over?

Wrath’s voice comes from behind Remus. He doesn’t even bother to turn his head to look.

“I did say 24 hours.  _ You _ missed the deadline.” Wrath does that stupid cackling laugh of his, and in front of Remus, Virgil cries out in pain, face convulsing. “Deep down, you know what’s going to happen next.”

“Why do I feel like I know you?” yells Remus, at the end of his goddamn rope. “I’ve never met you before, I think I’d remember you. So why is there a nagging feeling in the back of my brain telling me I  _ should _ know you? Who  _ are _ you?!”

“I’m Wrath.” His voice is quieter now. If it had been anyone else, Remus would have said he sounded subdued.

“I  _ know _ that!” Remus strikes one fist against the bubble, teeth bared. “But who  _ are _ you?”

“You really  _ don’t _ remember.” Wrath sounds… sad? No, that can’t be right… can it? Is he even capable of sadness? “I thought you'd said that in an attempt to get under my skin, but you don’t know me.”

Remus finally looks around, one hand still protectively on the bubble. Wrath has turned to glare at Janus, and at Patton next to him.

“What did you  _ do?” _ He advances on them, back arched, head low and extended toward them. “I thought you’d merely banished me, but clearly there’s more to it, isn’t there?  _ What did you do. _ ” Wrath is close to Janus as he talks, but Janus doesn’t flinch. Patton, next to him, stands defiantly, jaw set, eyes daring Wrath to try anything.

When Janus speaks, it’s slow, calculated, as if he’s assessing in his head how much he should say. “As you know, Patton controls a large amount of Thomas’ memories, or at the very least his  _ perception _ of them. He borrowed a portion of Logan’s powers, and using that, he was able to erase parts of the other sides’ memories. Patton and I both agreed that we should be the ones to remember, just in case we ever needed to prevent something similar from happening again.” Patton sticks out his jaw at Wrath, the corner of whose mouth curls up in a snarl.

Wrath scoffs, or maybe it’s more of a growl. “I suppose I hadn’t realized you were that  _ powerful _ , Morality.” Remus notices as Wrath towers over Patton just how tall he is. He could’ve sworn Wrath had been Roman’s height when he came out of the statue, but one glance at Roman disproves that hypothesis.

Wrath turns, stalking toward Remus, and Remus jumps to his feet. He’s terrified, but he can’t let it show, and he squares his shoulders.

Wrath doesn’t walk like any of the other sides. His stance is too wide, his steps too large, too smooth, inhuman. It reminds Remus of a predatory animal stalking its prey, and a primal shiver goes down his back.  _ He can smell fear, _ he thinks, an absurd, slightly fantastical thought that is no doubt the product of his tired, stressed, overworked mind.

Wrath halts directly in front of Remus, a sickly sweet smile on his lips. He cocks his head with a sort of mock innocence, reaching out to touch Remus’ face, and Remus fights against all his self-preservation instincts not to move.

Wrath cups Remus’ jaw in one hand and the look in his eyes is almost… fond? Just who did he used to be to Remus?

_ Does he really want to know? _

“Do you remember me?” Remus opens his mouth, and irritation flashes across Wrath’s face for an instant before his expression smooths out once more. “I know, I know, not  _ consciously, _ you don’t. But your subconscious knows, your subconscious remembers. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

And he  _ does _ remember, he realizes with horror. Memories he can't focus on play out in his head in little flashes, fragmented bits and pieces that, when pieced together, would tell a bigger whole, a narrative about himself he isn’t sure he’s altogether ready or willing to hear. With the flashes come pain, prickles in his head, like the repeated sensation of lightly stabbed, over and over. He grits his teeth, and Wrath’s grin widens.

“You  _ do _ know.” His nails have started to dig into Remus’ jaw, and Remus gasps in pain. Wrath seems to relish his pain—what a sick, _ sick _ creature he is.

“Leave him alone.” Roman’s voice speaks up from behind Wrath, quivering slightly. As Wrath straightens up, Remus’ line of sight to Roman becomes clear, and he can see his brother, whose heart is no doubt pounding as his own had been when Wrath’s eyes had locked on his, but Roman stands at his full height, fists clenched. Remus feels a surge of—what, gratefulness? brotherly love?  _ relief? _ —as Wrath’s iron grip on his face loosens and finally lets go, and he drops to the ground.

Wrath approaches Roman much the same way he’d stalked close to Remus, that inhuman, predatory walk. Roman isn’t so successful at pretending not to be scared, and he flinches with a gasp as Wrath grabs his arm, hard.

“Hello, my champion,” Wrath purrs, and Remus has never hated a single being as much as he hates Wrath now. Roman gulps, leaning as far back away from Wrath as possible, his defiant posture dwindling to make way for the posture of someone deeply afraid, petrified even. “You’ve both  _ moved on _ , hm, sweetheart? Is it too late, or is there some sliver of you still inside there who hasn’t changed?”

Remus suddenly understands with a perverted clarity. Wrath had been somehow romantically involved with King—he chastises himself, King has, no,  _ had _ a name and it was Atreus, he at least deserves a proper address—and that’s why he’d targeted Roman, targeted him, targeted  _ Virgil. _

Remus glances at the latter, who is still curled up in a defensive pose on the floor of the bubble, and a fresh surge of rage rushes over him.

"Why are you doing this?" Remus cries, and he instantly regrets it as Wrath's unnaturally orange irises lock on to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave your theories once you stop screaming, because i love to see them hehe~
> 
> i'm starting another fic, by the way! it's a LAMP medieval-inspired AU, hopefully a slowburn if i can get that to work out. the first chapter of that should be up in the next few days if all goes to plan. it's very promising (and u know me by now, plot twists are my calling card, so it should be VERY interesting)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaAAAA GUESS WHOS FINALLY FUCKING BACK? ITS ME
> 
> IM BACK BABYYYY
> 
> (and i still remember the plot)

“Don’t you get it?” Wrath’s voice is full of loathing, and Remus takes a step back, only to bump into the bubble. If Wrath comes any closer, he’s got nowhere to go.

“Get what?” Remus stutters. His mind races. He doesn’t have a way to fight back, to stop Wrath if it came down to it, and so he analyzes his surroundings, commits them to memory the best he can.

Wrath scoffs. “I was one of you once, you know. Thomas used to listen to me once. I had a _purpose.”_ Remus can almost, _almost_ feel bad for him. Almost. “I love you, King. And you love me too. Or at least, you used to.”

“While I have no recollection of you ever being a side”—Logan pushes his still cracked glasses up his nose—“I highly doubt that he loved you. What little I’ve seen of you has said a lot. Atreus would never have loved the likes of you.” Roman, teary-eyed, turns to Logan, looking as though Logan is his only anchor and his safe space.

“You—!” Wrath starts to lunge at Logan, but pulls back. And Remus notices something.

“We were too young to realize it then, but your relationship was nothing but abusive,” Janus says, arms crossed. Wrath growls—there it is again!

Whenever something gets under Wrath’s skin and he starts being, well, _angry,_ truly angry, something orange flickers around his balled fists. And the gears in Remus’ head start turning.

“Logan’s right,” he says, a little too loudly. “We never loved you, we _thought_ we did. Now that I’ve experienced love, I know that what we felt wasn’t love. It was codependency. You’d convinced us that we _needed_ you, and that if you left, we’d fall apart.” _That part was true,_ he reflects. He can see Wrath’s jaw clenching. It’s working. “We don’t need you anymore.” Remus looks to Roman, and they share a meaningful look. “The two of us have each other, and we have Patton, and Logan, and Virgil, and… and Janus.” He fights the urge to glance back at Virgil as he says Virgil’s name. Almost there. Just a little more. “Thomas isn’t a very angry person, so I don’t know why you even exist! You might as well just stop—!”

Wrath’s fist comes at Remus’ face, and he’s never moved so fast in his entire existence as he does right then. Remus dodges, and so, instead of connecting with Remus’ face, Wrath’s fist connects with the bubble.

There’s an ear-shattering screech, and Remus’ hands leap up to cover his ears. By the time he can safely hear again, the bubble is gone—where it went, he doesn’t know—and Remus hastens to a shaking Virgil’s side to support him.

“What’s going on?” Virgil asks, voice hoarse. It’s clear he still can’t see, but he’s sensed a change, if his question is evidence of anything. He seems nervous to accept Remus’ help without knowing who’s offering it.

“Virgil?” Remus asks cautiously, examining Virgil’s face. Virgil’s unseeing eyes widen.

“Remus? What happened?”

“Wrath—” Virgil winces. “Sorry. **He** — well, it’s not important right now. You’re not safe, but you’re better off than you were a moment ago. So I need you to trust me until we can figure out how to fix this.”

“How touching,” Wrath says, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice. He claps slowly. “Have you forgotten you’re all in my realm? You’re still under my control!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Remus mutters under his breath, and Wrath narrows his eyes. He raises his voice. “I said, that shade of purple makes you look like a cat.”

Wrath rolls his eyes. “You always were like this, weren’t you? Difficult, confounding, hard to talk to?”

Remus is still riding the “adrenaline” from freeing Virgil (it’s more like a simulation of adrenaline, considering he isn’t human), and he’s able to hold his boyfriend close again after worrying about him for a full twenty-four hours, so he isn’t too bothered by Wrath’s middle-school-bully level taunts. Instead, he picks Virgil up in his arms—Virgil squeaks, _adorable_ —and he crosses the clearing at a sprint.

Nobody sees it happen, but suddenly Virgil’s next to Patton, and Roman—or what  _ used _ to be Roman just moments ago—is now enveloped in a bright light.

One moment, there’s Roman.

The next…

There’s a different side standing there, not a side Thomas has ever met, but unmistakably a _side_. He’s taller than the rest, dressed in rainbow. Instead of, say, a mustache, he has a five o’clock shadow, and his wide green eyes stare down at his hands in bewilderment. He flexes his fingers, almost as though he doesn’t recognize them, or like—

“It’s been a while.”

There’s a hint of sadness underneath the wonder, and Virgil grips Patton’s hand tight.

The new side straightens up to his full height, and for the first time, Wrath’s expression betrays something that resembles fear. It’s hard to see, and it’s only for a moment, but it very well could be fear.

“Have you missed me?”

Patton finally lets out the gasp he’s been holding in. “It’s— he’s— but—!”

The rainbow side chuckles, and every other side shoves aside their mixed emotions. Those can wait.

“It’s really him,” Janus marvels, unable to take his eyes off of the tall figure.

“It’s really me.” He turns to Wrath, and Atreus—for it really _is_ King—makes a face halfway between a smirk and a snarl. “It’s been so long, Wrath. And this is the first thing you do. I’m disappointed, but not surprised.” A reignited fire burns behind his eyes. “Are you ready to face the consequences?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this more than makes up for the wait! sorry again! more updates as soon as i can write them! i havent proofread this chapter because my internal dialogue is entirely "aaaaaaa"
> 
> this was a little short but i had to save SOMETHING for the next chapter, because, remember, out of all my fics, i plan for this one the LEAST, so i needed a little somethin to start w next time ;) you know how it is ;) sorry for bein chatty


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